


From God's Lips to You

by fatalchild



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Pre-Season/Series 12, Season/Series 11
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-09-14 00:54:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 38,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9149677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fatalchild/pseuds/fatalchild
Summary: God is dying, and the world is going to end if he does. The only chance to save him requires the power of an archangel, but Michael is in the cage, and Lucifer, at first presumed dead, has lost his grace and his memories. Still convinced that Lucifer is their best chance against the Darkness, Castiel seeks him out and strives to protect him from a long list of enemies, even if that puts him at odds with his friends. What starts as battle strategy soon becomes more as Castiel is forced to contend with the difference between the stories told in Heaven and the Lucifer he’s come to know. The truth may hold the key to returning Lucifer’s grace, but Castiel doesn’t have a lot of time to find it.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> [Art by MashuraDi](http://mashuradi.tumblr.com/post/155226088331/) as part of the 2016 Angel Big Bang. -- Art contains spoilers!

Castiel’s senses returned to him one by one, but they remained indistinguishable, a tangled mess of emptiness and pain. He heard his name being called, saw Dean’s hand on his shoulder, and felt a surge of panic when Lucifer made no attempt to recoil. He was gone. Castiel felt weak and strangely numb, struggling as Dean pulled him upright. His legs wobbled beneath his weight, and Lucifer did not catch him. It was a bizarre thought. Even more curious was God’s current visage, looking small and pale and sick under Sam’s arm.

“Can you get us out of here?” Dean asked.

Castiel shook his head. 

“Great. At least the car’s reliable. C’mon.”

Castiel followed behind the rest of the group, keeping his eyes down. The movement of the car made his stomach churn, but he offered no complaint, sitting quietly in the back seat while trying to simultaneously tune out the Winchesters’ bickering and piece together what had happened. They had held something in their hands, and Lucifer had felt triumphant, even happy for that one moment before the pain. Castiel looked at Chuck. His head was lolled back, mouth hanging open to gasp short, uneven breaths. On his other side, out the window, Castiel could see the bright red ring around the sun. He had a million questions but not one fit to ask in front of the Winchesters. Each time he thought to try, Dean would catch him in the rear view mirror with such a disapproving glower that Castiel was rendered instantly silent. His hand moved once, fingers inching towards Chuck’s arm, but he merely brushed some lint from the seat and folded back into himself.

 

Sam and Dean helped Chuck into the bunker, dropping him on a couch before leaving to converse in the kitchen. The refrigerator door slammed, followed by the ping of metal falling to the table or the floor. Castiel didn’t know which, and he didn’t care. Whatever argument the boys were having in angry, hushed whispers seemed petty now. Castiel shook his head and looked at Chuck again, surprised to meet his eyes and find him awake.

“My apologies,” Castiel murmured.

“For what?”

“It’s rude to stare.”

“Oh. That.” Chuck tried to smile, but it faltered into a grimace.

“Yes. That. Although I suppose I have a great deal more to apologize for, it doesn’t seem an appropriate time.”

“Probably not.”

Castiel nodded. 

“I guess they’re working on a plan to kill Amara.” 

“You don’t sound pleased.”

“I don’t want to see everything I created die, but killing her doesn’t feel right either.”

“I can’t imagine that it would.” 

Castiel lowered his eyes again to avoid Chuck’s gaze. It felt wrong to look at him, seemed like staring even as Chuck’s own eyes bored their way through Castiel’s vessel. He had spent so much of his life longing to meet and searching for his father, and now here he was with nothing to say. Chuck broke the silence.

“Castiel, I need to ask you something.”

“Of course.”

“What happened to Lucifer?”

Castiel’s stomach dropped. 

“It’s fine if you don’t know, but—”

“He’s gone. I’m sorry.”

“I figured as much.” Chuck shut his eyes in the same moment Castiel realized they looked wet. His lips were pressed so firmly together that they trembled and faded from view, swallowed by pallor.

“I’m sorry,” Castiel said again. “If it’s any consolation, I don’t think he would have wanted to see this.”

“No, but he would have tried to stop it. And he probably would have. Lucifer was always like that. Stubborn.” Chuck rubbed his eyes and exhaled a slow, shuddering sigh. “This doesn’t seem real.”

“What would he have done? I can try.”

“No. Archangels are different. They’re the most concentrated forms of energy in the universe. Well, except for me. But they would be able to mend the gaps, smooth the tears.”

“Are you saying Lucifer could save you?”

“Probably, but it doesn’t matter now. None of it matters now.” Chuck’s face crumpled again, and he tossed his arm over his eyes and turned to his side, muttering an apology about being tired.

“You should rest,” Castiel said, rising to his feet. Again he felt the urge to step forward and comfort, but it wasn’t his place. His father was a stranger to him, and that fact had never been more evident.

Castiel lingered outside the kitchen listening to Sam and Dean’s back and forth about Amara. They had no ideas, and he knew that the only one he had would not be well-received. Better than letting God die, he decided. 

 

Castiel had stored his car nearby some time ago and was pleasantly surprised to find it waiting where he left it. The old Lincoln was a poor substitution for wings, but it would get Castiel far enough away from the bunker to cast his spell undisturbed. He tossed his bundle of stolen magical implements onto the seat beside him and turned they key in the ignition. The car clicked and sputtered for three turns before springing to life on the fourth. Castiel drove aimlessly, with no real destination other than far enough away that the Winchesters couldn’t stop him and that Lucifer couldn’t hurt them in the event he returned angry and uncooperative. This time Castiel wasn’t sure if he could blame him. 

He drove for forty-five minutes, weaving his way down narrow back roads until he felt sufficiently far from civilization, an open field with a clear view of the sky. Castiel parked the car and walked across the field, finding a large, smooth rock to act as a makeshift altar. He carried with him a vial of holy water and an angel feather likely dropped by a careless sibling. A bundle of herbs curled and blackened in the small silver bowl, emitting enough smoke that Castiel’s throat and lungs burned. He resisted the urge to cough so as not to interrupt his careful Enochian intonation, pricking his finger halfway through to draw the sigil representing Lucifer’s name in his own blood. One angel calling to another, grace seeking grace through one of the oldest magics in the universe. And Castiel received no reply. He waited until the ash was cool and the blood congealed, but by that point, it was obvious that Lucifer was gone, somewhere beyond Castiel’s reach. Beyond God’s too, so it seemed. 

“Goodbye, brother,” Castiel said, laying his hand across the sigil. “I hope you find peace.”

***

Castiel stood at the gates of Hell feeling almost foolish. Michael had been his commander for years, a de facto leader and a brother. He was stern but rarely cruel in Castiel’s recollection. His sense of dread was nonsensical, even to him. Michael would be angry at him and have every right to be, but he had always been a practical sort. He would see that there were bigger things at stake. 

 

The last time Castiel had been so far in Hell was when he pulled Sam free of the Cage. He had heard the echoes of Michael and Lucifer’s true voices but had given them little thought. Now, the near-silence was eerie, suggesting the suddenly new possibility that Michael might already be dead. Nothing was ever meant to survive in the Cage, not indefinitely. The air was too thick to breathe, and it crackled sharply with raw, ancient power. Castiel’s ears rang from the pressure, and his vessel trembled from the sudden shifts of hot to cold, cold to hot. Waves of nausea, fear, and repulsion washed over him one after the other, the Cage itself urging him to leave. 

 

Only the edges of the Cage were visible. They protruded from the spinning darkness of the center, a deep, abysmal chasm of twisting corridors. Castiel couldn’t tell how far in it went, nor could he press past the rows of bars holding the Cage in place and giving it its form. Castiel called for Michael, but his voice was swallowed up by the roar of the Cage’s inner chaos. He moved around the outside perimeter, a circle large enough to act as the foundation for the rest of Hell, but everything moved and looked the same so that Castiel soon realized he had no way of marking where he had started or where he should end. He flew around the Cage calling out until his voice failed and his bones began to ache from the agony of the atmosphere. At last he stopped, standing with his eyes stinging and his fists balled like a frustrated child. Castiel stared at his feet, considering trying to force his way past the bars, even at the risk of being swallowed by Hell, just close enough for Michael to hear him. Then, as if as an answer, Michael emerged from the darkness. He still wore his former vessel, Adam Milligan’s gentle features hardened by Michael’s cold expression, and walked slowly, each step a shrewd calculation. His shadowed eyes were narrowed with a mixture of scrutiny and hate, brows angled and lip curled. Michael’s hands pressed against the bars, fingers slipping through the gaps and wrapping around the long-corroded metal in what must have been his millionth attempt to break free. He stared at Castiel silently for some time, and when he did speak, his voice was thin and hoarse.

“You.” 

Castiel swallowed the lump in his throat. “Hello, brother.”

“Do not address me as such. We are no longer brothers.”

“I understand.”

“You understand.” Michael scowled, his grip tightening on the bars. “Why are you here, Castiel?”

“I need your help.”

Michael laughed, the noise catching in his throat and mingling with a strangled breath. 

“It’s not just me,” Castiel amended quickly. “Our father has returned, and he—”

“Returned?” Michael leaned closer, straining against the Cage. “I heard you correctly? He’s back?”

“Yes.”

“THEN WHY AM I STILL HERE?” Michael shouted, slamming his hands against the bars with another cry of frustration. 

“I don’t know.”

Michael’s face crumpled, and tears came to his eyes. He looked, for the first time in all the years Castiel had known him, truly hopeless. “So what then?” he asked, sniffing to keep the tears from his voice. “Are you here to gloat?”

“Of course not. I wouldn’t… I’m here about the Darkness.”

“Lucifer said as much before he left me here to rot. Where is he then? I suppose he’s being less than cooperative?”

“He… I…” Castiel’s throat clenched, and his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth.

“What is it? Castiel, where is Lucifer?”

“Lucifer is dead.”

The color drained from Michael’s face. The anger evaporated and left in its wake a horrified, wide-eyed disbelief. His hands slid down the bars and hung uselessly at his side for a brief moment before he seized the bars again. 

“You lie.”

“He was in my body,” Castiel explained, “and Amara hit him with everything she had. He’s gone.”

“But you… He…” Michael’s lips trembled. His jaw clenched. His hands clenched the bars of the Cage so hard his fingers turned white. The core of his body seemed to lose all strength, and he began to buckle, folding at the waist and sinking slowly to the ground. For a moment, he struggled to breathe, sucking in one uneven gulp of air after another, the sound scraping against his throat. There was a brief instant of silence before the scream tore its way out of Michael’s throat. His true voice echoed through Hell in one long, awful wail of loss.

“I’m sorry,” Castiel whispered, kneeling down. He reached to touch Michael’s hand, but Michael jerked away. 

“Don’t touch me. Don’t you touch me.”

Castiel pulled his hand back through the bars. “I’m sorry,” he said again. 

Michael ignored him. He was hunched forward now with his face against his knees and his hands tangled in his hair, tugging harshly as he rocked himself back and forth. He was mostly quiet, though his lips moved constantly in a silent whisper. Occasionally, he would mouth Lucifer’s name and fall into another fit of grief, sobbing and thrashing against the Cage bars until Castiel grabbed him and forced him to stop. 

“Broth—Michael, please. Perhaps after you heal God, he can—”

“Heal him?” Michael looked up. “Then God is…”

“Amara attacked him too. Lucifer was trying to stop her, I think, I… If you can heal him, then he can fix this.”

“Nothing can fix this,” Michael said, but he was calm now, thoughtful. He wiped his eyes. “Has Paradise not occurred?” 

“Paradise? No.”

“Then Lucifer isn’t dead.”

“What do you mean?”

“The Darkness doesn’t have the power to kill Lucifer outright. She never did. Our father wouldn’t have allowed it. And if Lucifer were dead, Paradise would have come to Earth in his absence. I would have felt it.”

“I tried to summon him, but…” Castiel frowned, chewing the inside of his cheek. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.” Michael rose in one fluid motion, all poise and composure once more. “He may be injured, but he is alive. You need to find him and bring him here.”

“Bring him here? Why?”

“To open the Cage. The sixty-six seals have already been spent, Castiel, and even if the remaining ones could be used, they only function in freeing Lucifer. This place is connected to him. You’ll need him to release me.”

Castiel stood as well, forcing himself to meet Michael’s eyes. “And then you’ll help us?”

“Don’t question my loyalty to our father. I’ve done everything he ever asked of me, something you can’t begin to understand.” Michael took a deep breath and sighed. “God is dying while you waste time arguing with me here. I suggest you go find Lucifer and quickly. He’ll know the spell.”

Castiel nodded, eager to depart Hell at once. Even as he moved through the levels of Hell, he could feel Michael’s eyes following him from below. Castiel didn’t look back until he was sure he was out of sight, sure that Michael was out of his sight. The Cage, and what it seemed capable of doing to an archangel, was something Castiel never wanted to see again.

***

Castiel drove back to the bunker with all the windows down, trying to get rid of the stench of smoke and sulfur clinging to his nostrils. He felt gritty, dirty in a way that an angelic finger-snap alone didn’t relieve. He washed what he could of Hell off in the bathroom sink before seeking out the others. Chuck was where Castiel had left him, curled miserably on a small couch in the center room. His eyes were closed, lips parted with soft, slow breaths, and someone had covered him with a blanket and made a cup of tea, which now sat almost untouched on the side table. Castiel sat down and ran his hand down his face.

“Bad news, I take it?” Chuck murmured, and Castiel jumped, sitting upright and straightening his shoulders.

“I couldn’t find Lucifer. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I expected as much.” There was no scream, no uncontrolled outpouring of grief. Chuck merely squeezed his eyes more tightly shut and clenched his jaw to still it. “He’s really gone.”

“Michael doesn’t think so.”

Chuck opened his eyes. “Come again?”

“I went to Hell, to the Cage, and I spoke with Michael.”

“Oh. I bet that was… interesting.”

“He’s very upset, yes.” Castiel sighed. “But I think he might be right. Amara was weakened. She shouldn’t have had enough power to kill Lucifer and attack you.”

Chuck sat up and leaned forward intently. “That… That makes sense. She must have sent him away and saved up most of her power to attack me.”

“The question is where she might have sent him. Do you have any ideas?”

“My first guess would have been Hell, but I guess you’ve already looked there.”

“Thoroughly. I even tried a summoning I found in one of the Men of Letters’ books, but it wasn’t effective. The only other spell I know requires a consenting vessel, and Sam wouldn’t let Lucifer back in under any circumstances. …I don’t seem to count.”

“You were never intended to be a vessel,” Chuck said, “but even if you were, I don’t think Lucifer would have ignored the first summoning.”

“You think he might be unable to answer?” Castiel asked.

Chuck nodded. “She hurt him. Whatever she did to him, I heard him cry out, and—” His voice caught in his throat.

“There was nothing you could do,” Castiel said softly. 

“Yes. There was. I mean, I-I’m God.” He folded his hands in front of his mouth as if he were praying and closed his eyes. “I tried,” he said, voice breaking again.

“What do you mean?”

“When I saw Amara going after Lucifer, I just… I didn’t want to hurt her, but… All I could think was, I have to protect him this time. And I couldn’t.”

Castiel stayed quiet, eyes fixed on the opposite wall so as not to make a spectacle of God’s suffering. Chuck sniffled miserably beside him, wiping his eyes with the balled up sleeves of his jacket and mumbling an apology. Castiel turned to him.

“You still love him.”

Chuck didn’t respond, just wiped his face again. 

“Maybe you can still protect him,” Castiel said. “You know him better than anyone. Where would he go in such a situation?”

“I don’t know.” Chuck ran his hand through his hair. “The mark changed him, and then I haven’t seen him in so long. If he were hurt or upset or anything before, he’d have gone straight to Michael if not to me, but now… Where do you think he would go?”

“Me? I don’t know. Why would I know?”

“You were his vessel. You’ve been with him constantly for several months now, and it’s not like the two of you were strangers when you were kids or anything.”

Castiel shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Those are distant memories, and Lucifer was not very talkative during our, um, cohabitation.”

“But you were with him. You know where he used to go.”

“I could try, but—Are you all right?”

“What? Oh, yeah, yeah.” Chuck nodded and leaned back against the couch, clutching a cushion with one hand to hold his balance. “Everything’s just starting to get kind of fuzzy and spinny.”

“You should try to rest,” Castiel said, hesitating again. “…I could make you another cup of tea if it helps.”

“Nothing really helps, but it’s nice anyway.”

Castiel took a pillow from the chair and tucked it behind Chuck, moving a second in place to support his head. He poured the cold leftover tea down the kitchen sink and set fresh water on the stove to boil, looking through the Winchesters’ assortment of tea while trying to think of where Lucifer might have gone. The most obvious place for a wounded angel would have been Heaven, but Lucifer wasn’t foolish enough to return there while he was weakened. Hell was also out of the question. Not only had Castiel done a thorough sweep in his descent to the Cage, but Crowley had redeclared himself king, and while Lucifer never considered him a legitimate rival, he was too smart to walk into enemy territory while compromised. The first thing Castiel could remember Lucifer doing once they had joined was to go sit in public parks, but there were tens of thousands of parks in the United States alone, not counting the rest of the world. Lucifer still had his wings.

Castiel rubbed his forehead as he dunked the bag of chamomile into the hot water. His own inability to fly would make searching difficult if not impossible, but if Lucifer was as hurt as Chuck seemed to think he was, there was a good chance that he’d avoid exerting himself by traveling. He would stay in one place and lay low until he was recovered, or he would come immediately back to the bunker in search of Chuck. The fact that he wasn’t there already was evidence enough that he probably couldn’t simply fly back. Searching on foot would be Castiel’s only option. He added a generous spoonful of honey and a splash of milk to the tea before carrying it back to where Chuck was resting. He was already asleep, eyes already twitching behind their lids as if in a dream. Castiel set the mug on the table and covered Chuck with another blanket. He’d wanted Lucifer to be safe, he’d said, but where would Lucifer of all people feel safe? Castiel sat down and cradled his head in his hands. The answer was simple: nowhere. There was nowhere in the world that would be safe for Lucifer.

Castiel took a pen and paper from the side table and began to make a list. He wrote down every place he could remember Lucifer going, suddenly wishing he had spent less time staring at the television and more time paying attention to Lucifer’s battle preparations. Castiel sat for a while longer, watching Chuck sleep, but he didn’t stay long. A part of him wasn’t ready to talk to the Winchesters, wasn’t ready to admit that he still thought Lucifer was their best chance of success. If nothing else, Castiel wanted to bring Lucifer home to their father, let them see each other one last time before it was all over.


	2. Chapter Two

The first sensation was pain, a terrible, crushing weight that seemed to somehow explode, shooting sharp tendrils of fire through every vein. There was emptiness and laughter and an angry pair of eyes watching from the shadows. He was falling, then moving, and a choir of voices began to blot out the rest of the noise.

“Oxygen is down to 87.”

“BP is 180/100 and climbing.”

“We need you to calm down, sir. Can you tell us your name?”

“Get an IV going, now!”

“Look at me, sir. Can you look at me? Do you know where you are?”

No, no, no. A flash of cold shot through his veins, and his eyes rolled back. The pain began to fade away, along with the light and the voices and the strange sense of motion carrying him away. Lucifer could feel himself slipping, and then he was gone.

 

The agony had abated to a dull ache by the time he woke. He was still, and the blurs in his visions were replaced by stretches of sterile whiteness. The walls, the ceiling, the floor—everything was white. Lucifer looked around, taking in the tubes and the wires, the variety of contraptions attached to him. A steady beeping coming from overhead caught his attention. The little box by his bedside displayed a variety of neon green numbers. Some of them were orange and continued flashing until a nurse came in to silence the machine. She smiled wide when he met her eyes, her round, moon-like face lit up like they were old friends.

“Well, look who finally decided to join us,” she said. She pressed several buttons on the blinking screen and then made an adjustment to the box connected to the tube in his arm. “How are you feeling? Are you in any pain?”

“Yes.”

“Can you rate it for me on a scale of one to ten?”

“A six, I think. I don’t remember. It used to be worse.”

“That’s okay,” she said, almost too cheery. She walked to the foot of the bed and picked up a clipboard. “Can you tell me your name? It will be nice to call you something other than John Doe.”

“No.”

“No? …Can you tell me why?”

“I don’t remember.”

The nurse forced a smile. “That’s okay, sweetie. I’m sure it will all come back to you. I’m going to go get that pain medicine for you, okay?”

“Okay.” Lucifer closed his eyes once she was gone. He should have asked what all those numbers on the screen meant. So many of them flashing like that couldn’t be normal, but he had more important things to worry about. Like who he was, where he was, what had happened to him. The more he thought about it, the worse the pain got. It was like trying to walk through razor wire, every mental push causing more and more pain until Lucifer felt sick and dizzy. 

“There we go. You’re okay now.” The nurse patted his arm, and Lucifer looked up. He didn’t even remember her coming back into the room.

“I don’t feel anythi—Oh.”

She laughed softly and then gave an apologetic smile. “Try to rest now. The doctor will be by to talk to you in a little while.”

He nodded simply because he didn’t know what else to do. Something about her was unsettling, as if their interaction was unnatural, but she seemed kind. Lucifer couldn’t place his own discomfort, and the large dose of opiates coursing through his system was only making thinking all the more difficult. He tried to think again, hopeful that the medication would prevent the horrible reaction from recurring but to no avail. The pain blossomed from somewhere deep within, seizing him to his very core until it coupled with the drug and made him lose his focus. Sleep crept up on him, but it was pleasant and warm. Lucifer was happy to succumb to it. He didn’t know what he was to find that strange.

 

The silence in Lucifer’s head was brief, fleeting. One moment, he was floating peacefully, bathed in the warm light of a memory that he couldn’t quite reach. The next, a low rumble began to grow from beneath him, so far down he couldn’t remember, but it grew, swelling up around him until he was engulfed in flames. The gentle warmth he had found so comforting just a moment ago was replaced by a searing pain that seemed to burn even deeper than his bones. He tried to escape, thrashing weakly, but the drugs held him still. He writhed there as if bound by chains, barely moving at all and each try costing him more and more punishment. He refused to yield. Already, he understood that this wasn’t somewhere he belonged. Their medicine wasn’t working. If anything, it was making things worse, numbing his mind while leaving every nerve inflamed. The thought of escape felt like a natural obsession, and Lucifer lay still, feeling the tension build in his muscles and waiting, saving it up for one last, desperate movement. 

“Easy there!”

The hand on his shoulder kept him from falling, or at least from smashing his sore body into the hard railing on either side of the bed. There was no fire, no roaring, just the sickly placid whiteness and the grip of this strange man. He was thin, almost mousy with his wire-frame glasses and his neat mustache, but he overpowered Lucifer easily, pushing him back onto the bed and pausing to fix the blankets and cords.

“Not leaving us already, are you?” he asked jovially, flipping through the same clipboard the nurse had.

“Yes. I’d like to leave.”

“I can’t let you do that, sir. It would be irresponsible and unethical of me to let someone in your condition leave the hospital.”

“Are you saying I’m a prisoner here?” The thought made his stomach drop.

“I wouldn’t think of it like that. We just need to figure some things out, clear a couple of things up. Let’s start simple, shall we? What’s your name?”

“I don’t know.”

The man frowned, his little mustache pulling sharply around the corners of his mouth. “People in situations like these are often unwilling to share information, but we can’t really help you unless—”

“I can’t tell you what I don’t know. Why can’t I leave here? Who are you?”

“I apologize. That was very rude of me. My name is Doctor Willis.” He pushed his glasses up on his nose. “We met earlier, but you were in a sorry state then. It’s no surprise that you don’t remember it.”

“I don’t remember anything.”

“That’s an unfortunate side effect of trauma. Usually, these things come back slowly over a couple of days. I wouldn’t worry too much about it. Now, at this point—”

“Why can’t I leave?” Lucifer demanded.

The doctor arched one eyebrow. “Where would you go? We have no family or emergency contact information for you, and if I’m to believe what you’re saying, neither do you. You can sign yourself out against medical advice, but if you do that, I can’t give you any medication or promise that you’ll be safe. Given the extent of your injuries, it would be unwise for you to go. Here, we can take care of you, keep you comfortable, give you something to eat.”

“Nobody would do all that for nothing.”

“There are programs in place to assist people who both require care and find themselves unable to pay for it. How about this: you stay here tonight, let us do what we can for you, and we can discuss the rest in the morning?”

“And if I don’t like what I hear in the morning, I can go?”

“I can’t hold you against your will, sir.”

“…Fine.”

“Good, good.” The doctor scribbled some notes. “Now, the nurses tell me you’ve been having quite a bit of discomfort and some difficulty staying asleep. Does that sound right?”

Lucifer shrugged. He couldn’t remember ever feeling any other way.

“You seemed rather distressed when I came in. I’m going to modify some of your medications, try some muscle relaxers in addition to the pain relief and possibly something to help you sleep. Rest is an important part of the healing process.” He waited for a reply and forced a smile when it didn’t come. “Very well, then. I’ll get those orders put in for you, and we’ll have some people talk to you in the morning. Try to get some sleep.”

The doctor touched Lucifer’s shoulder again, forcing a familiarity that wasn’t there. Lucifer resisted the urge to shiver and watched the man go, straining to hear whatever he was whispering to his colleagues just outside the door—a mix of drugs and something about a psych consult. They all offered him sad, pitying smiles when they came in to administer medication. He had no choice but to accept. After all, the doctor was right. He had nowhere else to go.

***

Lucifer slept as much as he could. The pain didn’t get any better when he was dreaming, but sometimes, it seemed to pass faster. He woke to a familiar face and a warm pulse across his forehead. The man frowned down at him, face scrunching up with concentration for a moment before he sighed.

“It isn’t working. Unbelievable.”

Lucifer grunted as he pushed up onto one elbow. “What don’t you believe?”

“That I can’t heal you or that you can’t heal yourself.”

“Well, I’m working on it.” He rubbed his eyes with one hand, squinting against the light. “Are you social work or psych?”

The man halted in his pacing. “…What?”

“I don’t know. You’re dressed funny.”

“Are you—Are you saying you don’t remember me?”

Lucifer squinted at him. There was something about his eyes, the shape or the color, the terrible sincerity. Or maybe it was the curve of his lips, how they pulled into the most miserable frown. No. There was something else—a light or…

“I’m sorry. I don’t remember.”

“That is unfortunate.” He breathed a sigh between his teeth. “My name is Castiel. Does that mean anything to you?”

“Something about a shield?” Lucifer shook his head. 

“Yes…” Castiel gripped the rails of the bed, hands shaking. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

“Pain, just this… horrible pain. Then I woke up here.”

“You don’t remember anything before that?”

“No. Who are you, exactly?” Lucifer asked.

“Someone who wants to help you.”

“Answers would help.”

Castiel thought for a moment then shook his head. “No. There are too many injuries to your body to risk any kind of shock right now. It might be best for you to stay here and receive medical treatment.”

“You’re going to leave me here?” Lucifer jerked upright, freezing when a nurse paused outside his door. 

Castiel eased him back with a light touch. “Temporarily, yes.”

“No. You have to get me out of here.”

“Why?”

“This place is creepy.” Lucifer scowled at the door. “There’s something about those people. I can’t stand them. They keep giving me something that doesn’t help. It’s making things worse, and I can’t take it anymore. Castiel, please.”

“If the staff is unkind to you, I could speak to them.”

“You’re not listening to me.”

“Lu—I am listening.” Castiel sighed. “You feel like you’re in terrible pain. Can’t they give you something for that?”

“That’s what I’m telling you. They give me things all the time, but it just makes everything worse. Nobody listens.”

“I imagine it’s an unusual situation. Listen to me: I will come back for you. For some reason, I can’t heal you, and I don’t have my wings. It’s going to be hard for me to get you out of here in this condition.”

Lucifer squeezed his eyes shut. “Castiel, I’m begging you—”

“I’m sorry. I know how frightening this must be for you, believe me.” Castiel pulled a small chair from the opposite side of the room and sat down. “I know it probably goes against your every instinct, but I need you to trust me.”

“Do you think I would have asked for your help if I didn’t trust you?”

“I… I hadn’t thought of that.” Castiel reached over and lay his hand on Lucifer’s arm. “I will take you from here, but not tonight. What I can do in the meantime is ease your pain.”

Lucifer opened his eyes, red and stinging with tears. “No, you can’t. I think I’m going crazy, and I can’t—”

“Rest, please.” 

Castiel’s hand came up, fingers brushing over Lucifer’s forehead and down the side of his face. The touch was warm and gentle, a familiar tenderness that he was certain he hadn’t felt in an eternity. The sensation spread through him, the warmth and relaxation sliding down his neck and stretching into his limbs. The tears came freely, and Lucifer stared up, fixated on Castiel’s face, willing himself to remember something. 

“We need you,” Castiel whispered, his voice fading into the soft white light that seemed to come from everywhere to bathe Lucifer in its familiar glow, flooding the horrific images from his mind.

 

Lucifer slept peacefully for the first time. He dreamed of Heaven without realizing it, dreamed of his father and of his childhood and of the life he’d had before it all went wrong. Even then, it wasn’t the same pain that had woken him so many other times. Lucifer blinked against the tears, grasping for where he was certain the man in the tan trench coat had just been sitting. Could he have dreamed that? He sat up, arms shaking with exhaustion at the small effort, and looked around the room. Everything was the same as when he had fallen asleep. The chair that he was certain Castiel had sat in was pushed into the corner where it always was. Lucifer had never had a visitor.

He felt his stomach drop when he heard the nurses making their rounds down the hall. Whatever Castiel had done to him was beginning to wear off, and he knew the staff would be able to tell. Or worse, they would notice something different and he would be forced to explain that a strange man wearing a trench coat and talking about healing touches and wings had visited him in the middle of the night to a bunch of people who already thought he was crazy. It was much easier to write the entire thing off as a dream.

***

The usual nurse came in at 8:37. She always came in at 8:37, and the regularity was one of Lucifer’s few comforts. The girl herself was a bit too happy, but she had pale skin and dark hair that fell in waves around her smiling face in a way that reminded Lucifer of someone else. She was nice to him, and she normally gave him enough pain medication that he could pretend to sleep through breakfast and avoid at least one serving of the tasteless slop they called food. He’d asked her name four times before he had managed to commit it to memory. Best to avoid further humiliation given his situation.

“Morning, Rachel.”

“You’re looking kind of rough this morning,” she said, frowning as she recorded his vitals. “Did you not get any sleep?”

“I must have for how I dreamed.” Lucifer closed his eyes as the cold tingle of the drug hit him. He had stopped asking for each one’s name and function a couple of days ago. 

“Well, I think Doctor Peters is coming ‘round to have a word with you today. Maybe he can do something about that.”

“Tell me something, does Doctor Peters happen to wear a tan trench coat?”

She shook her head. “No, I don’t think so. At least not that I’ve ever seen. Why do you ask?”

“Strange dreams that never seem like dreams anymore.” Lucifer covered his eyes with one hand. “Forgive me. I’m just… I’m very tired today.”

“Don’t you worry about that, okay? Just lie down and try to get what kind of rest you can before the doctors come in to do all their daily poking, okay?” 

“Right. Of course.” 

Lucifer sighed, another wave of revulsion cresting over his stomach. Castiel was right. He was in no condition to go anywhere, but the longer he stayed in this hospital, the less it felt like treatment and the more it felt like a prison. The cord and tubes were chains holding him in place, and the medication dripping down was a wit-dampening poison. 

 

He was on the haze of sleep when the door opened again. There was no announcement or heavy thud. The door closed softly like someone was trying to enter without waking him. The clock read just a couple minutes past nine, and Lucifer cracked a smile.

“Did you miss me?” he asked, forcing his eyes open.

It wasn’t the same girl. This one was shorter with a white coat and a mess of blonde hair. Her eyes were wide and smudged with makeup, and she sniffled loudly as she walked across the room.

“…Father?”

Lucifer blinked his eyes. “What?”

The girl’s hand came out, resting against his arm and stroking his skin lightly. Her fingers skimmed over the tape holding the IV in place, and her breath caught in her throat. “Oh my god…”

“Who are you?”

“Can’t you see me?”

Lucifer shook his head, which made no sense. The room was dark, but light spilled around the edges of the blinds and crept in under the door. It was a combination of drugs and sleeps that blurred his vision, and he couldn’t quite focus on her face. It seemed to bend, to blur around the edges. Each feature could be viewed individually, but taking them together as a whole caused some strange dissonance where nothing lined up right. Her eyes were too dark, the curve of her lips too sharp, and her face moved strangely as she looked down at him.

“It pains me to see you this way,” she whispered, pulling the chair over to sit at his side. She took one of his hands in hers, pulling it to her lips to kiss his fingers, and began to cry.

“I’m sorry. Whatever has happened to me seems to have put some things out of my reach.”

“I understand.” She pressed her cheek against the back of his hand. “And I am so sorry, Father. If there were some other way, we would do it. You must know that.”

“What are you talking about? You—you’re my daughter?”

The young woman nodded. “I’ve tried so hard to make you proud, but… it’s all over now, Father. Amara—she’s won, and—”

“Wait, Amara? Did you say Amara?” The pain exploded at the base of Lucifer’s skull, and he had to struggle to sit up, grasping the doctor’s hands as he pulled upright. The tightness in his chest was back, the crushing anxiety that normally only came when he slept. “Who is she? What do you know?”

The monitor overhead beeped, the green number indicating heart rate flashing an angry orange. They looked up at it and then back at each other. Footsteps sounded in the hallway, and her eyes got wider. Makeup ran down her cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” she said again, fumbling in her pocket. She removed a large, unlabeled syringe, flicking it once before pushing it into his IV. “You won’t feel any pain.”

“No. I’ve already had medication today. Stop.”

The plunger moved down.

“Stop it! Rachel!”

She laid her hand over his mouth. “I’m sorry. He’ll kill me if I don’t.”

Lucifer struggled. He jerked his head to the side, trying to scream, but she held him fast. He tried to flail his arms, hoping to hit her or at least knock the IV from his arm, but he wasn’t coordinated enough. His limbs twitched weakly, and Lucifer could see the terror of his own expression reflected in her black eyes. 

The fear and the flames rared up, and something inside Lucifer stirred, urging him to fight. He reached for it, sampling his first taste of rage and hurling it forth. The girl slammed against the opposite wall, thrown by some unseen force, and Lucifer pushed upright and pulled himself free of his bonds. Blood dribbled down his arm, but most of the medication had already made it into his system, and he stumbled when he tried to stand. The girl was up by then, completely unfazed. Lucifer moved towards the door. Whatever had enabled him to throw her the first time, he didn’t think he could do it again. He thought briefly of the man in the trench coat, the promise of rescue. The same coil of power inside of him reacted to the image, and Lucifer struck out again, in every direction. He heard a scream and the sound of something cracking, splitting, falling apart. He saw his escape route, and he ran.


	3. Chapter Three

The bunker was far darker than Castiel expected when he returned. He came down the stairs slowly, looking around for signs of activity and seeing none. The only disruption to the eerie, permeating silence was an occasional ragged breath from the next room. Chuck lay on the couch, pale and sick and small. He’d been covered by a heavy blanket and was curled so tightly beneath it he seemed to vanish into the couch. Castiel sighed, fetching a spare blanket from a hallway closet and taking the time to tuck it around Chuck’s curled body so as to keep him warm. 

“Did you find him?” Chuck asked, his voice a thin, rasping sound. “Oh. That’s not a good look.”

Castiel knelt down by the couch. “I found him,” he whispered, “but I don’t know if he’s in any condition to help us.”

“Might just be unwilling. You—you can say that, I mean, if that’s what he—”

“That’s not the case.”

“Right.” Chuck’s smile twisted one corner of his mouth, and he sighed. “How bad is it?”

“It’s… not good. He’s safe, for now, but I should bring him here. Seeing you might—”

“No! …I mean, no. That won’t do him any good right now.”

Castiel squinted in confusion. “You don’t want to see him?”

“And what am I supposed to say to him, Castiel? What can I possibly say after—” Chuck’s voice broke, and he turned his face away sharply before angling his body to follow. 

“He’s confused, Father. He’s just…” Castiel fell silent and rested hi hand on Chuck’s arm. “I will do what I can. You have my word. Please rest.” He stood up, pausing again to fix the blankets before excusing himself from the room. He’d barely cleared the doorway, only just begun to turn the corner when he was cut off by the man grinning at him over a glass of scotch. 

“How’s the hunt for Lucifer?” Crowley asked pleasantly. 

Castiel glared at him. “The search for Lucifer has not yielded any desirable results. My angelic tracking seems completely futile. The likelihood is that Lucifer is dead.”

“Or graceless, as it were.”

“You cannot separate an angel from his grace by simply hitting him very hard.”

“Not even if your a primordial goddess of destruction? Think about it, Cas.”

“Do not call me that.”

“Ooh. Touchy.” Crowley chuckled.

“Either of you got anything useful or are you just standing around measuring your junk?” Dean brushed past them, looking up expectantly as he dropped into his chair. “So… just junk then?”

“Dean—”

“Castiel and I were just discussing the possibility that Lucifer might currently be powered down. Might even be human.”

“He might also be dead and thus completely irrelevant to this conversation.” Castiel’s stomach twisted. Lying to Dean about this felt wrong. 

“Or he’s ripe for the plucking. Or stabbing. Whatever.”

Dean set his drink down and leaned forward. “So, what are you saying here, guys? Are you saying that Lucifer might be human?”

“It’s Crowley’s current theory.”

“It’s the most likely theory. Think about it. Lucifer ran Amara through with that God weapon. You really think she had enough juice left to take out both Daddy and the Morning Star?”

“Got a point, Cas.”

Castiel glared at Crowley again. “All right. Let’s imagine this hypothetical situation in which Lucifer is human. He can’t help us without his powers. Amara is the real threat here.”

“It’s Lucifer,” Crowley snapped. “The source of all evil.”

“Including you.”

“All the more reason.”

“Would you two just hold on a second?” Dean rested his head against his hands, heels of his palms pressing against his eyes.

“Hey?” Sam lingered in the doorway awkwardly. “What’s going on?”

“Trying to decide what to do with Lucifer,” Dean said, smile stretching too wide to be sincere.

“Lucifer?”

“Yes, you remember Lucifer, don’t you, Moose? You know what he’s capable of. Don’t you think we should get rid of him while we have the chance?”

Sam’s eyebrows shot up, and he looked from Dean to Crowley several times as he lowered himself into a chair. “We’re talking about killing Lucifer? I thought we needed to handle the Darkness.”

“That should be our priority,” Castiel said. “Crowley intends to waste all our resources on a pointless, mad revenge quest.”

“Why are you protecting him, Castiel? Is there something going on? How cozy did you two get sharing that little vessel of yours?”

Castiel’s body seemed only to twitch towards Crowley for how quickly the impulse was reigned in. 

“Now, wait a second, Cas.” Dean drummed his finger against the neck of his beer bottle, lips pursed thoughtfully. 

“You are not suggesting—”

“Hey. Not my business. But Lucifer running free is.”

“Lucifer may very well be dead, Dean.” Castiel’s voice didn’t get any higher. He sounded sincere, but he didn’t miss the cold, knowing look from Crowley.

“Yeah, he might be. He might also be alive, out of a vessel, and looking to jump Sammy’s bones.”

“Dean.” Sam made a noise between agitation and disgust.

“I used an angelic ritual to attempt to locate Lucifer,” Castiel explained. “It was unsuccessful. If he managed to survive, he is without his grace.”

“Which means we can just bash his bloody brains in and be done with it.”

“Why? Because he hurt your feelings? If he’s that vulnerable, he isn’t a threat.”

“It’s fucking Lucifer, Castiel. He’s always a threat.”

Castiel turned to the Winchesters but received only baffled stares in response. “You two can’t be considering this. It’s not the priority. It… It’s not right.”

“Right.” Crowley snorted into his glass. “That’s a laugh. You know, we don’t even need him. The spell in the Book of the Damned only requires Lucifer’s blood, so he’s just as useful dead as alive.”

“May I remind you that Lucifer fought against Amara? What happened to Team Save the World?”

“It didn’t really work, Cas,” Sam murmured.

“So now that he’s not useful, we hunt him?” Castiel cast a disbelieving glance at both brothers. Sam at least looked uncomfortable this time.

“What about everything he did before?” Crowley asked, voice rising. “Do any of you have any idea what that monster put me through? HE MADE ME HIS DOG.”

“Yeah, well, you’re no saint.” Dean looked at Sam and got a small shrug in reply. He leaned back, feet propped up on the table while his eyes moved over Castiel in that distrusting, evaluative way. “Look, Cas is right,” he said. “Amara is causing real trouble right now, real people losing their lives here. If Lucifer’s not all archangeled up, he’s not worth looking for.”

“Thank you.”

Dean shook his head. “I’m not finished yet. Assuming we all survive this, Lucifer’s gonna be a problem. Now, I get why you did what you did, Cas, I do, but this is Lucifer. We can’t just let him run free on Earth.”

“He may be human. Then what?”

“Then I guess that’s between him and Chuck or him and Crowley.”

“He helps us, and he ends up powerless, confused, and alone? If Lucifer has lost his grace, he may have no idea who or what he is. He won’t know what he’s done.”

“Gotta protect Sam, Cas, and everyone else. Lucifer’s not safe.”

“This feels wrong,” Castiel said, sighing again. “But I will stand by your decision, Dean. Of course.”

“Good. Saves a lot of trouble that way.” Dean rocked his chair back then leaned forward across the table to pull the pile of research closer. “Now, what are we going to do about Amara?”

Castiel sat at the far end of the table, and the conversation droned on around him: Amara, her powers, her weaknesses. He kept his eyes down on the pages before him, but he wasn’t reading. Castiel watched Crowley in the corners of his vision, waiting for the demon to slip away or at least send some sort of incriminating text. He didn’t. He drank and moaned and pretended to do research until it was evident both Sam and Dean were sick of him—a likely goal. They would send him away soon enough. Castiel’s excuse came in the form of a photocopy of an ancient text. The image was too blurred to read, so Castiel suggested he go seek the original and return with a translation.

***

Castiel could sense the demon before he entered the hospital. He kept himself hidden as he moved down the halls towards Lucifer’s room. It was empty, a crooked light fixture and a faint crack in one wall the only evidence of any struggle. Castiel knew better. He traced the demon down to the boiler room, surprised to find a young girl huddled in the corner crying. The human was a young girl. Castiel could see the demon’s face, and he assumed she could see something of his true self. She didn’t seem bothered. She just cried.

“Do you know who I am? …what I am?” Castiel asked.

The demon nodded.

“I’m not going to hurt you. I just—”

“You should.”

“Why?” Castiel crouched down as he drew closer. “What have you done?”

She looked up at him, makeup and tears smeared across her face. “Crowley made me,” she whispered. “King Crowley now, again. You don’t know what he does to people.”

Castiel’s tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, and he swallowed to dislodge it. “Where’s Lucifer?” he asked.

“Gone.” She smiled for the first time, sending fresh streams down her cheeks. “He got away.”

“Where did he go?”

“I saw light. I don’t know. …Are you going to kill me?”

Castiel stood up and shook his head. “No. Go back to Crowley, tell him Lucifer is dead, and then run, as far and as fast as you can.”

“You’re letting me go?”

“You want to save Lucifer, don’t you? This is how you do that. Run, now.” 

Castiel watched her go, black smoke tearing a scream from the crumpled nurse as it left her. She didn’t wake, but she was breathing and had no evident injuries. Castiel left her sleeping on the floor, slipping out of the hospital through a back exit and following the alley back to the main street. He sighed then, the hopelessness of his situation bearing down on him. Lucifer could be anywhere, and now Castiel knew that Crowley had no intention of respecting their agreement. Typical. 

With no wings, he had to travel on foot. Lucifer would be doing the same, but if Castiel’s suspicions were correct, he would be hindered by the humanity of his vessel. He would feel hunger, pain, exhaustion. Castiel thought back to his own experience, to shaking fingers dropping his last coin into a vending machine, to clutching the first drink he’d ever needed as he ducked into the night wearing stolen clothes. Lucifer would be in a similar position. 

There were three laundromats within reasonable walking distance to the hospital, and Castiel visited them in order of proximity. If Lucifer had been there, he’d already gone and left no trail. Still, Castiel searched through the unseasonably cold night. Lucifer would have to sleep, and he wouldn’t, the only advantage Castiel had on a search that was beginning to feel fruitless. It was almost dawn when he caught the rumor. A well-known panhandler had been seen splitting his earnings with a sickly looking blond with “the voice of an angel” only two blocks from the second laundromat. It narrowed Castiel’s search radius considerably. 

He crept down dark back alley number fourteen as the sun crested, expecting nothing and certainly not expecting a sudden blow to the back of his head. It was a hard enough strike that Castiel’s ears rang, and he turned, looking for a demon and finding only the icy stare of familiar blue eyes. Lucifer looked somehow paler and more drawn than he had in the hospital, but there was a telling sharpness to his gaze.

“Easy.” Castiel held his hand up. “I’m not going to—”

Another swing. Lucifer was faster than Castiel anticipated, but he favored one side. Castiel caught the plank, wrenching it from Lucifer’s hands and tossing it a short distance away. Lucifer’s surprise showed on his face, alongside the fear Castiel had never expected to see in the eyes of this particular brother. He moved again, an evaded punch giving way to a sharp elbow in Castiel’s ribs. Their bodies collided against the wall, and Castiel felt the jolt pain sent through Lucifer’s body. He waited for Lucifer’s next strike, mapping his movements by his injuries, and when the punch came, Castiel was able to grab Lucifer’s wrist, twisting his arm around his back and pushing him forward.

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

Lucifer struggled. “You tried to kill me. You were the last person there before that girl showed up.” 

“That girl is a demon,” Castiel snapped, and she’s not the one you need to be worrying about. 

Lucifer’s body slackened, sank against the wall. “…A demon? What does that mean?”

“Damned souls who… Do you remember nothing?”

He shook his head.

Castiel eased him to the ground and knelt before him. “I’m sorry.”

“I saw her face,” Lucifer murmured, looking up to meet Castiel’s eyes. “It was all dark and twisted… familiar.”

“I suppose it would be for you.”

“What do you mean?”

Lucifer looked like another person for how lost he seemed. His eyes were too wide, his expression too soft, and despite his vessel’s stature, he managed to look somehow small huddled up in his ill-fitting new clothes. The dark shadows under his eyes, offset only by hints of redness, indicated someone who needed to sleep but had been thus unable to. Lucifer’s body seemed to bend under the force of its own weight, and he looked, for a moment, like someone Castiel understood, like someone he used to be. 

“Luci—” Castiel caught himself. There was no reason for Lucifer to know, not right now. It would only shock him, cause him pain. “We need to get you somewhere safe,” he said instead. 

“What were you going to say? Do you know my name?”

Castiel pulled Lucifer’s arm over his shoulders and stood to lift him. “Luce,” he decided after a moment. “It’s a nickname and a good one. I think it will suffice.”

Castiel all but carried Lucifer the few blocks to the car, carefully easing him inside before walking around to the driver seat. He turned the heat on and drove for an hour, determined to find some balance between keeping Lucifer safely away from Crowley and simultaneously in reach. He cursed his own lack of wings, foot heavy on the accelerator as Lucifer slept beside him. 

Castiel checked into the motel with a fake name and credit card that he’d never used before. He led Lucifer inside and lay him on the bed with little protest now. Lucifer turned over, letting Castiel pull the baggy hooded sweatshirt off as the heater roared to life in the corner of the small room. He was sporting a multitude of bruises, several of which Castiel caught sight of as he helped him out of layers of damp clothing. He offered a healing touch, but it didn’t take. It was like pouring water into a bottomless cup, but Lucifer seemed to feel it, shivering under Castiel’s hand. 

“Are you an angel?” he whispered.

“What?”

“You feel holy, and you’re kind.”

“No. I’m not.”

Lucifer made a low noise in his throat and turned over to press his face against the pillow. He didn’t move again.

Castiel spent the next two hours warding the room, painting sigils and constructing hex bags. He would have to come clean to the Winchesters now, confess that he had found Lucifer while somehow not disclosing his condition. They only needed a little more time. Chuck would be able to save Lucifer once he had his power back. He wouldn’t allow anything else to happen to his favorite son. Castiel had to believe that.

***

There was something wrong about trying to sneak back into the bunker, but Castiel needed to get to Chuck or the Winchesters and avoid Crowley. He felt his way through the darkness, gravitating towards the room where Chuck slept. It was dark again, and Chuck didn’t seem to have moved at all.

“Hello, Castiel.”

The Scottish lilt caught him off guard, and Castiel turned, nearly colliding with Rowena as she brushed past him. She paused, eyebrows up, a stony yet placid expression not unlike an inpatient mother.

“You got something in your pocket there?” she asked, stirring her cup of tea as she went.

“I don’t know—”

“Save it, angel. We know that Lucifer’s alive.”

“…Yes. Well, as Crowley tells it, you have a spell that will allow us to rescue Michael from the Cage using Lucifer’s blood. Seeing as we have that, we can proceed with our original plan.”

“Is that so?” She sat down in the chair closest to the couch and gazed at Castiel from over the rim of her teacup as she drank. 

“Yes. Otherwise, we all—everything dies.”

“I know the stakes. …Unfortunately, Book of the Damned rituals are very specific.”

Castiel ground his teeth together. He was tired of playing. “Can you do it or not?” he asked.

“I can but not with that. The other ingredients are rare. Fergus is tracking them down.” Rowena rolled her eyes as she spoke her son’s name.

“Then, when the time comes, I will provide Lucifer’s blood.”

“It will be too old by then, dearie.”

“Pardon?”

“The blood has to be fresh, angel,” Rowena explained. “It has to be drawn with a blade forged in hellfire and poured fresh onto the altar.”

Castiel stuffed his hands into his coat pockets, gripping the vial of blood. “How do I know you’re telling the truth? You could just be working with Crowley to—”

“Fergus is a blind, petulant fool. Lucifer is insignificant next to the Darkness, and this is hardly the time for such petty quarrels.” She leaned back, crossing one leg over the other and sipping tea again. “…Is he human?” she finally asked. “I mean, it shouldn’t matter so long as it’s him, but—”

“No. I don’t think an angel truly can be.” Castiel closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “How can I help?”

“I suppose you’ve already done what you needed to, finding Lucifer and all. Is he going to cooperate?”

Rowena gave a thin smile. “Not with me, but that’s all in the past. You bring Lucifer to the ritual alive and well, and I’ll get your other archangel out of the Cage for you. Let’s hope he’s of more use to Charles than this one has been.”

“Lucifer might have saved his life,” Castiel murmured. “For all his mistakes, he has tried to help.”

Castiel didn’t give her a chance to answer. He wandered aimlessly through the house, waiting for Sam to come research some midnight revelation or Dean to shuffle out in search of one more beer. Nothing. It was late, and both the boys’ rooms were closed off now. It was for the best, Castiel decided. They wouldn’t understand his position in this anyway.

He lingered just long enough to make sure nobody was tailing him, checking his car for hex bags or cursed tokens before he left. Castiel’s eyes spent more time focused on the rear view mirror than the road in front of him. Logic dictated that even if killing Lucifer had been an option, it wasn’t any longer, but Castiel couldn’t calm his nerves. He counted out the change for a carton of juice, two ready made sandwiches, and a guilty bottle of liquor from an all night convenience store. The motel was dark when he returned, and much to Castiel’s surprise, Lucifer was still there, tucked into the center of the bed. Castiel put the food and juice in the mini refrigerator hidden under the TV cabinet and sat in the darkness with his drink. An archangel sleeping was almost as absurd as the idea that he had beaten one in a fight.


	4. Chapter Four

Lucifer remembered the fight. He remembered being rescued, and he remembered the man in the tan coat. Castiel, he had finally said his name was, which Lucifer thought sounded decidedly angelic. He remembered a soft bed and a warm touch, gentle and familiar hands tending his injuries while he slept. But all that was gone. Now there was only fire, more fire than Lucifer would have previously dreamed possible. He lay at the center of it watching massive columns of flame stretch upwards into the dark nothing. The screams came from above and below, sometimes strangers but other times what was almost certainly Lucifer’s own voice crying out in agony from somewhere else. The walls, if they could even be called such, were coiled with sharp, rusty wire, and when he blinked, Lucifer could see something caught there. A chunk of flesh. Blood. Feathers. He writhed and called out names he wouldn’t remember when he woke up.

After what seemed a painfully stretched eternity, some period of days or months or years, Lucifer noticed that the unfamiliar voice only called out its suffering in response to his own. Someone was answering him. Lucifer twisted, struggling against his bindings, but he was held fast. His co-prisoner cried out in the distance, and this time it was Lucifer who answered. I’m here. I’m like you. Come find me. The thoughts that washed over him no longer felt like his own, and Lucifer was drowning in the best way possible. Pure, white light and overwhelming warmth split him apart from the inside out. You remember now, don’t you?

Lucifer’s body twisted as he woke. He struggled onto his side, choking on the taste of copper clinging to his throat. An arm was around him then, coaxing him upright and tilting his body forward.

“I told you not to push yourself,” Castiel said tersely, sighing as he wiped the blood off Lucifer’s face. “What were you doing?”

“Sleeping or something like it.”

“Were you practicing lucid dreaming?”

Lucifer scowled. “I don’t know how to do that.” He wrinkled his nose as Castiel dabbed blood away again.

“I cannot help you if you don’t talk to me.”

“What do you want me to say, Castiel? You’re not exactly forthcoming with me either.”

“That’s a fair point, but it’s also for your own protection. I’m sure that seems strange to you, but—”

“You’ve been nicer to me than anybody else has been.” Lucifer sighed. “All right. What do you need to know?”

“First of all, what were you dreaming about?”

“I don’t remember. It’s there for a few seconds when I wake up, but then… nothing.”

“Could you try? Please? It might be important.”

Lucifer closed his eyes, mentally forcing himself back through the horrible images. “Fire. I remember fire. But it doesn’t make any sense.”

“Why doesn’t it make sense?” Castiel asked.

“It’s twisting. It’s like the walls are made of fire, but they keep moving. I couldn’t move. There was something cold, something sharp digging in, and… So much pain. There’s a voice.”

“A voice? Whose voice?”

“I don’t know,” Lucifer murmured, brows twitching together, “but then I do? It’s someone I know, someone I’ve always known. Since the beginning, since we were—” His eyes snapped open, breath a sharp, sudden gasp. 

“Easy,” Castiel said. “You’re safe.” 

“I’ll never be safe.” Lucifer looked down. He was clutching Castiel’s hands so tightly his own fingers trembled, but Castiel didn’t shy away. Instead, he stroked Lucifer’s wrist lightly with one finger.

“I know you have no reason to believe me, but I will do anything within my power to keep you safe. Please rest now. You need to recover.”

“That’s worked well for me so far.”

“This time will be different.” Castiel pressed two fingertips to Lucifer’s temple. “I promise.”

 

Lucifer didn’t know he slept until he woke. He startled upright, eyes darting around as they adjusted to the darkness. 

“Be still,” Castiel said. He was sitting in a chair opposite the foot of the bed, just watching. 

The walls around him were covered with strange symbols written in red. Lucifer’s eyes couldn’t focus on them, and trying made his head hurt. One in particular drew his gaze again and again.

“Can you read them?”

Lucifer shook his head. “No.”

“For the best. You should endeavor to remember them nonetheless.”

“Magic?”

Castiel tilted his head. “Yes.”

“You’re peculiar. I like you.” Lucifer grinned as he rolled off the bed. “Do you want coffee?”

“It’s two in the afternoon, Luce.” The name seemed to catch on Castiel’s tongue. It seemed to do that a lot.

“Right. You don’t sleep anyway, Castiel, and maybe I’m just not a morning person. I don’t remember.”

“…Never fond of waking up.”

“What?”

“Nothing. You shouldn’t concern yourself with the past. Sometimes it’s better not knowing.”

Lucifer scowled. “Well, I don’t remember what I don’t remember, so I don’t know what I’d be better off not knowing.”

“That’s… fair.” Castiel clasped and unclasped his hands, tapped his thumbs together, shifted his weight in the chair. 

Lucifer arched an eyebrow at him. “Okay. No coffee for you.”

“I need to talk to you.”

“All right.” Lucifer added yet another packet of sugar to his drink and leaned against the wall. “I’m listening.”

“I have done my best to protect you, to keep you safe, and while this is not a quid pro quo situation, I do need a favor from you.”

Lucifer smiled, but he wasn’t surprised. Every kindness had a price. 

“…Don’t look at me like that, Luce. You may refuse me, and I will still help you, but you have to understand. This affects all of us.”

“More magic? This is about the sky? The way the sun looks all… weird.”

“Yes.”

“I don’t think I can help you with that, Castiel.”

“But you can.” Castiel was on his feet at once, crossing the room in two strides. “Please don’t ask me to explain this right now. It’s better that you not know, that you never know. Just trust me, and everything… everything can be better.”

Lucifer watched Castiel over the rim of his cup. Strange little guy, he thought to himself, very nervous. Definitely not human. He had settled on angel, maybe even guardian angel, but something about that didn’t feel right. God wouldn’t send someone to protect him. Lucifer pushed the curtain aside and glanced out the window. An ugly blob of gray was blotting out more sunlight than the day before. 

“You win. What do I need to do?”

“Ask as few questions as possible.”

“Can I get the basics?” 

Castiel took a deep breath and gestured for Lucifer to sit on the bed before returning to his chair. “I believe the dreams you have been having are related to a… being who may be able help us.”

“A being? Come on, Castiel.”

“An angel.”

“I knew it.” Lucifer grinned.

“That’s no surprise. This particular angel is imprisoned, and because of your… family ties, you are the only one who can free him.”

“So this is a bloodline thing?”

“Something like that, yes.”

“And this angel can keep the sun from doing whatever it’s doing?”

“Yes.”

Lucifer nodded. “Well… whole damn world, right? I’m in.”

“We’ll need your blood,” Castiel explained. “There’s a ritual and—”

“More magic.” Lucifer waved a hand dismissively. “I’ll just bleed in the right direction.”

“That works too. I’ll need to make preparations with some of my allies. It will probably take a few days to get things in order.”

“Right. Of course. And during that time, you’ll be…?” Lucifer avoided Castiel’s eyes when he asked the question. It was a crack in his bravado. No amount of sugar could take the bitterness out of his throat, and the milk had almost certainly curdled in his stomach. 

“I’ll be preparing for the ritual.”

“I don’t know what that entails. You’re just in and out a lot, and I thought maybe you could prepare here.”

“I could do that, I think,” Castiel said softly.

“Good. We’ll get you some decaf.”

 

Castiel seemed to take Lucifer’s request both very seriously and very literally. He hardly left his side through the rest of the week. When Lucifer woke up, Castiel was there. The angel (Lucifer was certain now) had no need to sleep and spent the nights he was present sitting near the window reading by moonlight, at least until Lucifer teased him for being an angel who would need glasses for all that squinting. By the third day, Castiel had figured out enough about Lucifer’s sleep patterns that he normally woke to a cup of coffee. Castiel didn’t need to eat either, but he always drank coffee with Lucifer, sitting side by side by the window.

“I noticed you didn’t eat breakfast,” he said one morning, stirring sugar into his drink.

“I’m not hungry.”

“You didn’t eat dinner either. It’s in the refrigerator.”

Lucifer’s expression soured. “What? Are you monitoring my caloric intake now?”

“I’m concerned for your wellbeing. You’re not eating. You hardly sleep, and when you do, it hardly seems restful. Your wounds are healing very slowly, and forgive me, but you look terrible.”

“You’re a fun date.”

“I’m worried.”

“You tell me I have some kind of special blood that can free some ancient angel from prison to stop the world from ending, and I’m not allowed to be a little stressed?”

“Stress is a normal reaction. I’d be worried if you weren’t stressed.” Castiel leaned forward, arms resting against the table. “You’re still having the dreams, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“And other things?”

“…Yes.” Lucifer stood abruptly for more coffee. “Dreams. Headaches. Sometimes the whole damn room is on fire. I don’t know why. I’m handling it, Castiel. What more do you want from me?”

“A more open form of communication would be ideal,” Castiel replied.

Lucifer sighed at him.

They went back to drinking in silence, but unlike every other day, Castiel didn’t spend most of his time on his phone or looking through his weird books. He brought Lucifer some pain medicine when he went for lunch and sat beside him while he watched a movie when the pills made him dizzy. Lucifer drifted in and out, usually Castiel’s opportunity to step away and talk to his associates. This time was different, as was the next and the one after that, and soon Lucifer was detailing every dream to Castiel as soon as he woke, often still half-asleep. He would lie sprawled across the bed and babble out nonsensical fears. Castiel often rested a hand on his shoulder, and for his part, Lucifer simply tried to pretend he didn’t notice the growing fear in the angel’s eyes.

***

Castiel’s hands were tight on the steering wheel as he drove, white knuckles twitching in an impossible grip. Lucifer watched him, frowning to himself. Kind of fidgety for an angel, he thought.

“It’s important that you do exactly as I tell you,” Castiel said. “My associates should not pose a danger to you, but it is for the best that you speak with them as little as possible.”

“Afraid they’ll tell me something juicy?” Lucifer offered the second peanut butter cup in the package over.

“No. And no thank you.”

He shrugged and unwrapped it for himself instead.

“You enjoy those?” Castiel asked.

“It’s candy, Castiel. Everybody likes candy.”

“I see.” Castiel turned onto a dirt road, driving another several miles before pulling over to hide his car in the brush. “We’ll walk from here,” he explained, exiting the vehicle. Lucifer followed, taking the bag Castiel handed him without comment. “Everything should be set up when we arrive,” Castiel continued as they walked. “Your part in the ritual is very small. You will stand at the center of a magical circle, add your blood to a spell, and recite an incantation.”

“Then what?”

“Then we will find a safe place to wait the battle out.”

Lucifer blew out a frustrated breath, but he trusted that Castiel knew what he was talking about. Something strong enough to kill the sun and destroy the whole planet was probably way above the pay grade of one amnesia victim and his maybe guardian angel.

They arrived at the warehouse around sundown. Castiel kept Lucifer behind him as he marched up the steps, moving towards a distant chorus of arguing voices. The metal door scraped across the floor as Castiel pushed it open, and everyone fell silent as the two stepped into the room. The little group of strangers gave Lucifer a variety of mistrustful glances. There was one woman among them, a matronly redhead with a surprisingly sharp smile that didn’t reach her eyes. A middle-aged man sat beside her, the surliest of them all. His lips were unattractively pursed and his eyes too narrow to be friendly. The other two men, much younger, just seemed confused. The shorter one looked at Lucifer as if he were a ghost, disbelief twisting his features. The tall one looked almost sad, hair falling too long and framing his wide eyes.

“I told you all about Luce,” Castiel said, and they answered him with a series of mumbles and nods. 

“Friendly group.” Lucifer forced a smile, but he stayed close to Castiel. 

“Are you seriously—”

“Dean,” Castiel said sharply. “We talked about this. He doesn’t remember.”

“Then perhaps some introductions are in order.” The man had a British accent and a smile with too many teeth. “My name’s Crowley,” he said, gesturing to himself. “Does that name mean anything to you, Luce?”

“Uh, no. Sorry.”

“What about Rowena here? Give you any sort of tingle? Nothing? I know, how about that tall one right over there. Surely you remember Sam? The holy moose?”

“The holy what?”

“Crowley,” Castiel snapped. “There’s actually no reason for you to be here.”

“I have a vested interest, Castiel.”

Castiel rolled his eyes and tossed a scowl in Dean and Sam’s direction. “Can we just get on with this?”

“Let’s.” Rowena tapped her long nails on the table several times before she stood, gesturing for Castiel to follow. He did, Lucifer alongside him, casting a warning glance back at the others.

The ritual area was covered in sigils. Some of the markings on the wall looked vaguely like Castiel’s protections in the hotel room, but some of the symbols were unfamiliar black smudges beneath their feet. Everything was framed around a large circle with a triangular altar at one end. There was a silver bowl at the center flanked on either side by a variety of what Lucifer assumed were spell components, little bundles of herbs and powders.

“You stand right here. Did Castiel teach you the incantation?”

“I did.”

“Excellent. Now, I’ll perform the spell, and when it’s time, you cut your palm in this knife, into the bowl, and don’t speak until it smokes. You got that?”

“I got it.” 

“I’ll be right here,” Castiel said, backing out of the circle.

Rowena held her arms out, palms up on either side of the bowl as she began to whisper in a language that sounded vaguely similar to something Lucifer had heard in his dreams. She laid each ingredient in the bowl carefully, murmuring at each addition as she tucked it into place. The previously innocuous ingredients had a strong smell once they were mixed. It was like someone trying the smell of rotten eggs with high quality incense, and Lucifer’s stomach twisted to knots. He almost missed Rowena nudging him.

The knife was cold and heavy in his hands. It was the same metal from hilt to point, something smooth like liquid but perfectly sharp. The silvery white flashed across his palm, and Lucifer watched until the red droplets falling across the other ingredients began to smoke, cutting through the stench of sulfur. 

“YOLCI ESIASCH IALPOR TABGES.”

At first, nothing happened. Lucifer looked at Rowena in confusion and then started to turn towards Castiel. He began to speak, but the air was suddenly thin and useless in his lungs. The lights popped and crackled overhead, raining down sparks before they went out. The candles placed around the circle gave only a faint glow. The others had begun to move forward when the loud pop issued from the center of the circle. Lucifer tried to step back, but Rowena held his arm. The crack in the cement began to grow, smaller tendrils branching out and pushing to the edges of the circle. The ground beneath them broke apart, and the walls shook down to the foundation as the room was flooded in white light. Lucifer stared at it even though it hurt his eyes. Inexplicable elation made his chest tight.

For an angel, the being standing at the center of the rubble looked surprisingly small. He was young too, face and build indicating a boy barely in his twenties, but the eyes held something more. The soft, youthful features were tempered by the sharpness of this angel’s gaze. He surveyed the room quietly, expression darkening at each face. He stared at Dean hard for a second before turning his eyes to Lucifer. 

“Well?”

“…Oh, am I supposed to say something?” Lucifer asked. “Um…”

“Are you supposed to—”

“He doesn’t remember, Michael,” Castiel said quickly.

“Doesn’t remember? Me? …You lie.”

“Wait, Michael? Like flaming sword Michael?” Lucifer glanced to the others for some sort of confirmation. “…Wow. Impressive.”

“Is this a game to you?” Michael demanded. “Are you playing one of your jokes?”

“I don’t think so.”

Michael stepped forward. “You don’t think—”

“All right, cool it, Mikey,” Dean said. “We’ve got bigger—” He’d barely begun his saunter across the room when Michael flicked one hand outward and sent him flying to the opposite wall. Sam called his name and ran to help him, pulling him upright out of the dust. 

“That one has only one word to say to me,” Michael said curtly. “I have no interest in any others. I hardly have any interest in the one. Who is that?”

“Rowena,” Castiel explained. “She helped us with the spell.”

“You can go for now.” Michael gave a dismissive wave of his hand, and Rowena smiled, bending in a feigned bow before stepping away to the shadows. “No use for the Winchesters either.”

“God is with them.”

“Is He now? How very interesting.”

“Sam and Dean can show you where. I will take Luce home and meet you—”

“Luce”—Michael said the name too sweetly—”will be staying here with me.”

Castiel stood at Lucifer’s side, having inched his way back over without anyone noticing. “To what end?”

“Nothing that concerns you. We have some things to talk about.”

“He can hardly talk to you about something he doesn’t remember.”

“He can listen.”

“Michael—”

“Let him go, Cas,” Dean called. He was on his feet now, dusting his jacket off and glaring at all of them. “We give you Luce and you stop Amara?” he asked Michael. “Walk away? Earth intact?”

“Dean!”

Michael smiled. “Yes.”

“All yours then. We’ll be outside when you’re done. C’mon, Sammy.”

“Dean, this isn’t…” Sam sighed and stared at Lucifer with his face twisted in confusion before turning to follow.

“What point can this possibly have now?” Castiel asked hotly. “He’s human. He doesn’t remember. Anything you would demand of him would be lost on him now.”

“Don’t talk about things you don’t understand, Castiel. He belongs to me. He has always belonged to me. He will always—” The soft voice of the young man became strained and garbled, something terrible screaming from beneath that skin as Michael was engulfed in flames. He was gone quickly.

Crowley chuckled at the shocked expressions. “What can I say? I read the books.” He threw a second flaming bottle towards Castiel, but the angel was able to quickly duck behind the frame of the altar.

“Run,” he told Lucifer.

Lucifer didn’t make it far. He’d crossed less than a third of the distance to the door when the candles extinguished, no windows and the dead of night rendering it pitch black. A series of thumps echoed across the room, something heavy hitting the floor from the rafters, all behind him. Fortunately, it was an open floor plan, and if Lucifer could just keep moving, he wouldn’t need to see. The first strike took him by surprise, a sharp pain across the side of his face, enough force behind it to turn him and land him on his knees. Castiel was calling for Sam and Dean, but from the way they had looked at him, Lucifer didn’t think they were coming. Another hit to the back of his head had his ears ringing. Lucifer tried to crawl forward, tried to distinguish where in the room the exit was, but he was too disoriented. He could hear a scuffle on the other side of the room, something being thrown, something being broken, two quick flashes of light, and more shouting in strange languages, run, run, run.

“That should hold for a minute.” Crowley turned Lucifer to his back by repeatedly kicking him until he crumpled to the floor. He turned the sword over in his hand, twirling the same whitish metal that the ritual dagger had been forged from. “You can’t imagine how long I’ve waited for this moment,” he said.

“I don’t even know you.”

“I know, and believe me, that takes away from the sweetness, but I do believe it is now or never. Let’s see if I can do this in the dark.”

Lucifer didn’t have time to counter. The blade sank into his shoulder, impossibly hot and sharp, cutting through him in a way he didn’t know existed. He cried out, and Crowley chuckled something about bad aim above him. The blunt end of the weapon turned his head, and Lucifer tasted blood. He struggled weakly, trying to find the same power that had saved him before, but the blade was in his side, and all the air and the strength had left him.

“Hail to the new king,” Crowley whispered, an almost manic giggle bubbling up past his lips. 

Then there was light, enough light for Lucifer to see his face, see the eyes turned red and the ugly twists of black beneath the skin. A terrible shriek sounded from behind Crowley, and his hands twitched around Lucifer’s throat in one last attempt before his body seized up, eyes rolling back. Lucifer could see that Crowley’s skin had begun to blister and char. He scrambled backwards, staring at the light past the point of pain. Castiel’s hand covered his eyes, other arm around Lucifer’s waist to pull him upright. 

“Come on. We have to go. We have to…”

Lucifer was in less pain than he thought he should have been, but his legs were weak and uncoordinated beneath him. He stumbled, slipping in what, as it briefly occurred to him, might have been his own blood. Castiel called to him again, and he followed the sound. “Hold this. I’ve got you,” the angel said, and Lucifer could feel cool air on his face and in his lungs. He clutched the bloody sword Castiel thrust into his palm as the world streaked past him. His legs had long since given out, but he was still moving—further away from the screaming—moving then falling then moving again, a gentle rocking motion and quiet now.

“You’re going to be okay,” Castiel said to him. “Just hold on.”


	5. Chapter Five

Castiel hefted Lucifer onto the bed with shaking hands. He hadn’t moved, hadn’t seemed properly awake since Castiel had gotten him into the car. One wound was on the muscle of Lucifer’s shoulder, far enough from his neck to not be an immediate bleeding risk, but the cut on his side was flowing hot and red too quickly for Castiel’s liking. He pressed his hand over Lucifer’s side, trying to focus to heal, but again, there was nothing. 

“Luce, come on,” he said, trying to pull Lucifer upright. “We need to get you to a hospital.”

Lucifer’s head lolled, and he seemed to struggle with Castiel’s words for several moments before his body tensed and his eyes snapped open. “No. No, no, no, no.”

“You’re bleeding.”

“It’s superficial. If I go there, one of them will find me. I can’t…”

“You can’t just lie here and bleed to death.”

Lucifer shook his head. “I trust you,” he said. “Don’t take me back there.”

Castiel swore under his breath. He had an emergency kit, having lost the use of his grace too many times to count, but he’d never had to actually use it. He bundled up every towel in the bathroom, padding them around Lucifer to try to staunch the blood flow, but it seemed to have already slowed significantly. It must have been a poorly angled blow, fortunately shallow and turned away from major blood vessels. Castiel had seen Dean and Sam put in stitches before, and it had looked simple enough. 

“This is likely to hurt.” Castiel glanced up at Lucifer and sighed. “You’ve blacked out, haven’t you? That’s probably for the best.”

Lucifer gave no reaction that he was spoken to. He didn’t even flinch when the needle first pushed through his skin, though Castiel did. He kept looking up at Lucifer’s face between every few stitches, but he never reacted.

“Please don’t die,” Castiel whispered, swallowing the tight feeling in his throat. “We can’t have come this far in everything for you to—”

For a moment, Castiel thought he was hallucinating. Lucifer had no power, no grace, but Castiel was certain he’d seen the briefest flicker of white light beneath his hand. He leaned forward, coaxing the edges of torn skin together and watching closely. Again, for one second, Lucifer seemed to glow. 

“Luci—Luce. Luce, can you hear me? I need you to focus where my hands are. Can you feel my hands?”

Lucifer turned his head towards Castiel but didn’t answer.

“You have to focus. This is important. Right here. Focus right here, and tell your body to heal. Will it to.”

Castiel thought he felt Lucifer tense for a moment, but he couldn’t be sure. Lucifer’s breathing seemed slower and deeper, a combination of exhaustion and, Castiel hoped, relief from an internal healing. Hands still shaking, Castiel cut Lucifer’s shirt off of him, treated the wound on his shoulder, and covered him with a blanket. He was still breathing. He looked almost peaceful.

 

Castiel cleaned as much of the bloody mess up as he could and sat across the room watching Lucifer sleep and turning his phone over in his hands. Sixteen missed calls and seven angry text messages. Castiel pressed send. 

“Man, you better be dead.”

“I’m alive. I wouldn’t be able to make phone calls if I were dead. …Hello, Dean.”

“What the hell happened back there, Cas?”

“What do you mean?”

“You left us for freakin’ Lucifer.”

“I left you?” Castiel asked, incredulous. “You weren’t under attack, Dean. Besides, you were already gone by the time we got outside.”

“We? …So he’s still with you.”

“I’m not going to leave him.”

“What happened to honoring my decision or whatever?”

“You said you had no interest in pursuing Lucifer provided he didn’t have his powers. You never said that I could not have such an interest.”

“An interest, Cas? What’s going on here?”

Castiel leaned his head back against the wall and shut his eyes. “He’s been helpful, Dean. He shouldn’t have been attacked like that. Protecting him, it was the right thing to do. I can’t apologize for that.”

Dean was quiet for several moments, the faint background noise of a television becoming softer and more distant. “We’ve got bigger problems,” he said at last. 

“What do you mean? The ritual worked. Michael should be able to heal Chuck now, and—”

“Able, maybe, but not willing.”

“You’re wrong,” Castiel said. “Michael has always loved our father, has always been loyal and obedient to him. He will—”

“He won’t. Says he’s got ‘conditions’.”

“You’ve spoken to Michael?”

“He’s here, Cas,” Dean hissed, phone crackling in Castiel’s ear. 

He was on his feet at once, keeping his eyes on Lucifer as he backed across the room and shut himself into the bathroom. “Where is here, Dean?”

“The bunker. He traced us or followed us back here. Something.”

“And he hasn’t healed Chuck?”

“No. He says he won’t unless… unless you bring Lucifer back here.”

Castiel opened the bathroom door a crack and looked at Lucifer, still stretched pale and still across the bed. 

“Did you hear me, Cas?”

He nodded, a meaningless gesture. “I hear you.”

“So, put Satan in the car and get moving.”

“…I can’t. I can’t do that, Dean.”

“Excuse me? Cas, this is—”

“I know the stakes, Dean. So does Michael, and I believe he will help us. Amara is a threat to him as much as to anyone else. Lucifer… Lucifer hasn’t even woken up since Crowley’s attack. He can’t talk to Michael as he is now.”

“He hasn’t woken up at all?” Dean asked. 

“No. I will have to seek medical treatment for him, I think. Tell Michael I will bring him once he’s lucid enough.”

“I swear, Cas, if you’re bullshitting me. This is Michael you’re leaving here with me, with Sam.”

“I know, but things are different now. I’ll call you soon.”

Dean didn’t respond. Castiel heard an exasperated sigh before the phone clicked in his ear. A part of him felt sick. Lying to Dean seemed wrong, but Castiel knew that turning Lucifer over to Michael was worse. If anyone found out Lucifer was showing signs of grace, they would fall upon him like vultures. Castiel shivered, guilty about thinking such about his best friend, even for an instant. He splashed his face with water before returning to sit on the edge of the bed near Lucifer’s feet. 

“You’re going to be fine,” he whispered. “Michael will help us. We’ll all be fine.”

***

Morning came. Lucifer didn’t wake. Castiel began to keep a tally of the hours to distract himself between Dean’s angry, erratic text messages. Michael wasn’t leaving, he said. Michael was watching him. Then Michael was watching Sam, and Michael was too close to Sam, and the only answer Castiel had for any of it was I’m sorry. Yeah, you are, Dean’s last message said. Castiel held the phone so tight in his fist that it began to yield. He dropped the grip at once, tossing the phone onto the bed with a frustrated huff. Lucifer moved his foot out of the way and stared at Castiel with eyes that were too keen for the haze of sleep still showing.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” Castiel said.

“You didn’t.”

“…Or hit you with the phone.”

“You didn’t do that either. Glad you weren’t trying, though. Your aim would be pretty bad.” Lucifer only made it half upright before pain twisted his face. 

“Don’t get up.” Castiel found himself at Lucifer’s side, one hand on his shoulder. 

“Not gonna fight you on that,” Lucifer muttered, falling back again. “You’re just sitting over there looking all sad and worried. …Should we be running?”

“We’re already running, or at least we’ve already run. Nobody should know where we are, and I doubt they’re looking for us at present.” 

“But you’ve still got that look.”

“I am… concerned for you.” 

“I’m still here. Hurts like a bitch, though.”

“I should get you something for that… You’ll be all right here, won’t you?”

“If you say it’s safe, it’s safe. I’m just going to be very, very still until you get back.”

“Good idea.” 

Castiel tried to smile, but he could tell Lucifer was too tired for it to matter. Each blink of his eyes was a little slower than the last, lashes fluttering in a struggle Castiel didn’t quite understand. His hand hovered over Lucifer’s side, unwilling to cause more pain, but his grace would require contact. The muscles in Lucifer’s side jumped and twitched in protest, but he was still soon, something like a sigh passing his lips as the tension dropped from his body. Castiel sat watching him longer than he should have.

 

Castiel drove over and hour and a half before stopping for supplies. He followed a pharmacy clerk past the locked doors, willing himself invisible to human eyes, and slipped two bottles of pills into his coat pockets. The rest, he paid for, piling the little basket with gauze and tape and food. Lucifer was partial to orange juice, and Castiel sorted through the small selection until he found one without pulp. Pulp always made Lucifer wrinkle his nose. 

On his way to the cash register, Castiel passed a rack of greeting cards. He paused, spinning it thoughtfully and reading over the various sentiments scrawled prettily across colorful pictures. Then, among all the birthday balloons and anniversary flowers was an orchard, rows of trees with a simple swing hanging from the one in front. ‘Get Well Soon,’ the card read, and with the inside blank, Castiel suspected he was supposed to write in his own message. ‘Sorry you got stabbed’ felt insufficient, among other things, but he tucked the card into his basket before taking it to the cashier.

Castiel took the longest route his GPS would calculate to get back and made several deliberate wrong turns to foil anyone who might be trying to follow him. Covering his tracks had him returning to the motel after dark, and he found Lucifer sitting half upright in bed making a vexed expression at the television.

“Nothing good on?” he asked.

“Signal’s bad.” Lucifer grinned when Castiel set the bags on the table. “Is that for me?”

“Yes. Here, take these.” Castiel counted the pills into his hand and passed them to Lucifer before pouring him a glass of juice. “I also brought fresh bandages, some soup for dinner, and… this.” He thrust the card into Lucifer’s hands without making eye contact and turned away quickly, busying himself with unpacking takeout. 

“You bought me a card?” Lucifer asked.

“It had a nice picture. It made me think… I thought you would like it.”

“I do like it. You forgot to sign it, though.”

Castiel moved the side table alarm clock to set the soup down. “I didn’t… I assumed since I was handing it to you… Apologies, then.”

Lucifer chuckled under his breath, catching Castiel’s wrist before he could step away. “So serious all the time, Castiel. Sit here and sign it for me. There’s a pen by that phone.” 

Castiel sat on the edge of the bed as Lucifer pulled him and took the pen with a sigh. “I don’t know what to write.”

“Just write your name.”

“…My name.” Castiel stared at the blank, white space for a second, deciding a single printed word wouldn’t fill it up. Instead, he began to detail the Enochian sigils that comprised his name. Lucifer stayed quiet, but he leaned closer to watch. Castiel watched his eyes, searching for some glimmer of familiarity, but when he looked up, he found Lucifer watching him. Castiel licked his lips nervously and handed the card back over. 

“Castiel,” Lucifer whispered, brushing his thumb over the name on the page. He always said it just a little differently than everyone else. “It’s very pretty. Thank you.”

“…You’re welcome. Eat some soup now. Those pills are going to make you very sleepy.”

 

Castiel sat in the dark and watched Lucifer sleep for hours. He had moved from the bed when Lucifer’s eyes had become glassy and unfocused from pain medication, but after Lucifer had reached for his arm again, he’d moved the chair closer to the bed. It had remained there for days, and staying close to Lucifer had become the norm. Castiel kicked his shoes off sometime in the middle of the night, stretched his legs across the bed. His foot rested against Lucifer’s, and it wasn’t unpleasant. Lucifer didn’t feel evil.

Finding the so-called miracles Castiel was looking for was a relatively easy task. The internet was teeming with articles about spiritual power and mystical occurrences. Most of it was nonsense, and Castiel couldn’t find anything that gave any indication of Lucifer’s grace. There was nothing legitimate, no meteors, no mysterious lights, not even something cataclysmic that could be traced to an explosion of too much energy. But then, where would Lucifer’s grace have fallen from? Certainly not Heaven. 

“Are you awake?” Castiel asked him, leaning closer. Lucifer didn’t answer, so Castiel very carefully, very quietly took his phone from his pocket and dialed out.

“Cas?”

“Hello, Sam,” Castiel whispered.

“Hey, uh, how are you?”

“I’m fine. Thank you. How are you, Sam?”

“Everything’s kind of tense here right now.”

“Michael still hasn’t left?”

“He says he’s not going anywhere until you bring Lucifer here.”

“…He’s asleep.”

“Oh. That’s good, right?” 

“I think it is, yes. …This isn’t a social call, Sam.”

“I didn’t figure it was. What do you need?”

“I need to speak with my—Chuck. I’d like to talk to Chuck. Without Dean knowing, if possible.”

“Dean’s… in his room being Dean.” Sam sighed, and Castiel could hear him moving, then the rustle of fabric and muffled voices. “Hang on, Cas.”

“Castiel?” Chuck’s voice was scratchy and thin, and it wavered in a way that seemed wholly unfitting for God.

“Hello, Chuck.” The name still felt awkward to Castiel’s tongue and sounded stilted to his ears. ‘Father’ would have been just as bad, though. “I trust you’ve been updated on all recent developments.”

“I haven’t seen Michael, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“…You haven’t? But Dean said he was there.”

“I think he’s in and out, maybe. I don’t know. …What about Lucifer?”

“Resting,” Castiel murmured. He fit the top of his foot against the arch of Lucifer’s, watching as the grimace of a nightmare dropped to nothing. “He has no powers, but I believe there is still some connection to his grace. I felt… something, but he’s not intact. I’ve scoured every news source I could find, even some of the less reputable human rumor-mills, but I’ve found no sign of grace.”

“You probably wouldn’t. I assume you’re remembering Anna? Lucifer didn’t remove his grace, at least I don’t think he did. What Amara did, though, there may not be anything to find.”

“I see.” Castiel reached and laid a hand on Lucifer’s arm when he began to shift again. 

“If I was at full power, or even half, I could… do something.”

“No, I understand. …Do you want to talk to him?” The silence stretched so long Castiel had to look at his phone screen to make sure the call was still connected. “Hello? Chuck?”

“…Yeah. I mean, no. Don’t wake him up. I don’t think hearing my voice would be the best thing for him right now, Castiel. Most of the good memories aren’t connected to this form.”

“He’ll be awake soon anyway. He always is.”

Chuck laughed softly, but something in his voice warbled in a way that made Castiel think he might be crying. “Just let him sleep for now. You two look out for each other. You’re brothers, and too many… too many angels forgot that.” He took a deep breath, maybe a sniffle. “I’ll see what I can figure out about his grace, and you call me back, okay? I-I have to go, Castiel.”

“I’m sure we can—” Castiel stared at the blinking call timer with a frown. He felt his throat clench in an almost unfamiliar way, but the burning in his eyes was something he knew. Castiel’s very first interactions with his father and Chuck was already dying. Raphael had once told him God was dead, but he’d never really believed it. Castiel set the phone face down on the nightstand and put his head in his hands. More tears fell.

“…Castiel?”

He sat up, thoughtlessly wiping his face with his sleeve. “What’s the matter? Do you need something?”

“You’re crying.”

“I’m fine. I have your medicine here and—”

“Don’t… don’t do that. The pain’s not that bad.” Lucifer patted the spot on the bed beside him. “Sit here and talk to me.”

“This one is an antibiotic, and the pain’s not bad because I try to keep you medicated.” Castiel sniffled and then hated himself for doing so.

“And if I take all that, you’ll talk to me?”

“I’m talking to you now.”

“Castiel.”

“Yes. Fine. Here. …I got you this today. Apple flavored soda. You’ll like it.”

“Careful, angel. I’m going to start to think you’re sweet on me.” Lucifer made a show of swallowing the pills and then gestured again to the space beside him. “Coat off. Sit down.”

Castiel sighed, but he did as Lucifer asked. He was quiet for a long time, just staring at his feet or the blanket or the floor, but Lucifer seemed content to wait. “…Someone I love is dying, and I”—Castiel’s voice caught—”I don’t know how to help him or what to do. I feel like I’ve waited my whole life, and now… now, it’s all crumbling. I’m scared.”

“I’m so sorry, Castiel.”

“I had waited so long to meet him. I had given so much. I—” Castiel’s voice broke, and he wiped his eyes quickly. “I sound remarkably selfish.”

“That’s not how grief works.” Lucifer said softly. He put his arm around Castiel’s shoulders and pulled him close, stilling his hand when he moved to wipe the tears with his sleeve again. Lucifer took a tissue from the nightstand and folded it into Castiel’s hand. “Cry if you want to.”

Castiel nodded, and for a moment, he saw Lucifer as a brother and possibly something else. He saw someone too important to lose, grace or no. Lucifer was staring at him just as intently. “I… I’m too close to you.”

“No. No, you’re not.”

“Oh. I see. You’re…” Castiel swallowed. Lucifer’s eyes were very blue. And dilated. “…Opiates can cause a feeling of euphoria, lower inhibitions, and influence decision making.”

“I… What?”

“Your pain medication is… making you very tired.”

“I hadn’t noticed.”

“Here. Eat your soup.” Castiel leaned to get the bowl, putting a small gap between himself and Lucifer, but they were still touching when he sat up. He turned the television on and was pleased that Lucifer let the conversation drop. 

The last thing Castiel remembered was hearing Lucifer chuckle at a late night rerun of I Love Lucy. He had thought it was a warm, pleasant sound, and then he was waking up, lifting his head from where it had come to lay on Lucifer’s chest at some point in the night. His arm was still stretched half across the bed, and he was still asleep, oblivious to the morning newscast displayed on the TV. Another chunk of the sun had gone black overnight, enough that Castiel had taken it for night until he saw the time on his phone. He called Sam, holding his breath through the five rings it took for an answer.

“Hey, Cas…”

“Sam, I need to talk to—”

“Chuck’s not awake anymore, Cas.” 

“Then I’ll call back when he wakes and—”

“I don’t know if he’s going to wake up again. We’ve been trying all morning, and he’s just… He’s not good. We might need to start thinking about a Plan B here,” Sam said. “…Cas? You still there?”

“Yes, I’m… I’m sorry. I have to go.” Castiel set the phone down and stared blankly at the opposite wall. He had to force himself to move, to pick up the pen and write a note telling Lucifer he had gone. He’d have to talk sense into Michael.

***

Castiel took the long route and changed cars at the halfway point to avoid being followed, but he was still surprised to find the bunker so dark. He walked down the stairs quietly, hesitating to call out. In the end, he didn’t have to. He had barely made it three steps towards Chuck’s resting place when he heard the rustle of wings behind him.

“Castiel.”

He turned slowly, fully expecting to be obliterated in flames like his sister once was, but Michael was stationed across the room staring at him with Adam Milligan’s eyes. 

“I see you’re alone,” he said, taking a step forward.

“…Yes,” Castiel replied.

“And yet Lucifer lives.”

“Yes.”

Michael nodded. “I understand you are no longer in possession of your wings, so tell me, Castiel, what is an appropriate time allowance for you to deliver Lucifer to me?”

“It won’t matter if we’re all dead.”

“Well, look at you.” Michael chuckled. “All grown up. Why, Lucifer 2.0 from the way I hear it—and in more ways than one. …What can you possibly hope to accomplish here, Castiel?”

“I came here to talk to you, as brothers. Our father is—”

“Our father”—Michael spat the word—”will sustain himself for as long as his necessary. Besides, I’m sure he’d love to see darling Lucifer again before it’s all over.”

“Or we could stop it.” Castiel licked his lips nervously, but the well-prepared speech he had practiced for most of the drive over was cut off by the sound of boots in the hallway.

“Look who decided to show up. Put your junk away, boys.”

“It’s funny that you let them talk to you like that,” Michael said. “They should remember how little significance they have these days, how irrelevant they are to any grand design that matters.”

“I… Hello, Dean,” Castiel muttered.

Dean’s lip curled, and he pushed Castiel with his shoulder as he walked past to sit and open his beer. Sam followed behind him, lips twisted to the side for a brief second, but he said nothing.

“So? Where’s Lucifer?” Dean asked.

“Somewhere else.”

“That is not an appropriate answer, Castiel,” Michael snapped. 

“Okay. Can we just”—Sam held his hands up—”stop for a second? Fighting really isn’t going to do anything. I mean, no disrespect, Michael, but if you don’t heal Chuck, you won’t ever be able to get… whatever it is you want to get from Lucifer.”

“Sam’s right,” Castiel said. “If you heal Chuck, he can stop Amara, and there will be time for you and Lucifer to speak after.”

Michael’s face twisted. “I am not negotiating.”

“Lucifer is of no use to you right now.”

“…That’s not strictly true.” Michael shrugged, dropping into a chair and draping himself elegantly across it. “You understand that God and Amara are the antithesis of each other?”

“Yeah. Life/death, creation/destruction, light/darkness,” Sam said.

“Precisely.”

“You’re going to have to explain a little more than that, Mikey.” Dean turned his beer up again.

Michael gave him a warning look, fingers twitching with intent, but he merely began a careful examination of his cuticles instead. “One would think people surrounded with such treasure troves of information would have known Lucifer is the Angel of Light.”

“Light Bearer, right.” Sam nodded. “What does that have to do with—”

“Lucifer’s essence is… particular. He was once said to be closest to God, and he was his”—Michael gestured vaguely, muttering in Enochian—”personal attendant. It does not translate.”

“Okay?”

Michael sighed. “We need Lucifer to heal Chuck.”

“What?”

Dean slammed his beer on the table. “Are you shitting me?”

Sam shook his head. “But you said—”

“Do not presume to act all high and mighty here. I did what I had to do to escape. Let me remind you that each one of you abandoned a brother to that place, one who didn’t belong there.”

“Un-freaking-believable,” Dean said.

“I agree completely. However, that is not the issue. Lucifer is the only one with the power to break apart the darkness that clings to God’s essence.”

“But Lucifer doesn’t have his grace,” Castiel said. 

“Which presents quite a problem, doesn’t it?”

“Wait a second.” Sam laid his hands on the table and leaned forward. “If Amara’s core is actual darkness, then her weakness would be—”

“Light,” Michael said. “Of course.”

“Maybe we need to start thinking on the offensive. If we can find some great power of light we could attack Amara, kill her, balance things out.”

“That works in theory, but it’s unnecessary. Once we find Lucifer’s grace, he will be able to heal God, and Amara can be sealed back up where she belongs.”

Castiel watched the conversation with an air of impassiveness, but he studied the Winchesters closely. He knew them, knew their gestures down to near imperceptible micro-expressions that they tossed back and forth between them. He saw their eyes whenever Lucifer’s name came up, and he knew that they would resist reuniting Lucifer with his grace. They would take it, use it as a weapon, destroy it.

“What about Anna?” he asked.

“She’s dead,” Michael said.

“I know that, but we were able to find her grace by looking for creative energy. A power like Lucifer’s will not slip by unnoticed. We should be looking for anything from meteor showers to restored forests.”

“Cas is right.” Sam opened his computer and began clicking away. 

“I… have some leads, but most have been dead ends. I could go look into some things if this is the route we want to go.”

“Seems to be our best worst plan.” Dean smiled over, but it was fake.

“You’ll be in contact, Castiel,” Michael said, no inflection. He wasn’t asking. 

Castiel nodded, wishing more than ever that he had wings to take him away. He walked on foot, glancing over his shoulder to make sure Michael wasn’t following him. He couldn’t be sure. Even with all his wards, he could never be sure. 

He checked his phone once he reached the car and found several missed calls from Lucifer. Castiel’s stomach dropped, but he was almost certain Crowley was dead. Nothing could survive Michael’s wrath, but Michael had been at the bunker. Michael also had wings, Castiel thought at once. He mashed the call button as he started the car, stomping the gas pedal to the floor and taking every shortcut he knew back to the motel. 

Everything looked normal when Castiel arrived. The door to their room was shut, and the lock was intact when he turned the key. The room was clean, save for some carelessly tossed laundry, and all the lights were off. Castiel flipped the switch. The bed was empty; the whole room was empty. Lucifer was gone.


	6. Chapter Six

Lucifer was used to the fire, or rather he felt like he might have been used to it at one time. He certainly didn’t feel used to anything anymore. He had figured out that the voice in his dreams had been caused by the other angel, the one they had freed, but ever since he had escaped his imprisonment, he had been quiet. He didn’t answer Lucifer’s calls anymore, neither words nor screams. The solitude might have been the worst part. Somehow, suffering alongside another, knowing that someone else understood the pain of the burning, twisting monstrosity that plagued him had been a comfort. Now there was just pain. Lucifer squeezed his eyes shut and tried to will himself awake or at least out of the flames. At first, the cooling sensation was a relief, even something of a triumph, but a heavy uneasiness settled over Lucifer, like smoke creeping into his lungs.

“I finally found you,” came the strange voice. 

Lucifer looked. He knew the woman. At least he knew he was supposed to know her. The name escaped him. She had stern features framed in soft curls, and the pallor still clinging to her skin clashed with the solid black dress. The flames were gone, and in their place was nothing but blackness. Lucifer couldn’t see anything but the woman in front of him. With no sense of space, he couldn’t quite tell if he was floating or standing. All he knew was that he was there and she was there and he couldn’t get away. Something hurt in the back of his head.

The woman frowned at him. “You seem confused, nephew.”

“Nephew?” Lucifer echoed. “You’re my aunt? I don’t… I don’t remember.”

“Amara,” she said simply, eyes narrowing with scrutiny as she stepped towards him. “You’ve been hiding yourself from me quite effectively. I suppose Daddy’s been helping with that.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

Amara laughed lightly, but it was cold and dismissive. “Stop this game. I’ve already confirmed that you’re alive, which is more than enough for me to find you. We’re always going to be connected, you and I.” 

“Connected?”

“Yes.” Amara pulled the collar of her dress down on one side to reveal the strange red mark that seemed to have been burned into her flesh. “You did this to me. You did this first. To trap me, not to free me. My connection to you is different than the one with Dean, but it’s still there. It will always be there.” Her face fell, and she looked a combination of curious and troubled. “How are you alive?” Amara’s hand came up, fingers brushing over Lucifer’s cheek in a gesture that might have been affectionate but wasn’t. 

He remembered then. Lucifer remembered falling, being pushed back, held from the one thing he desperately needed to reach. An eternity of suffering was culminating in one final moment, and all of it paled in comparison to the sudden realization that He might die. Something inside of him twisted and ripped like he was being torn out of his skin. Something reached to hold him, and something flashed. Goodbye, nephew. She looked different now, her face pale, bloody, twisted with wrath. He screamed, an involuntary reaction to the pain and the fear that came at the terrible realization. It was enough to wake him up. 

Lucifer bolted upright, hands wandering the bed in search of Castiel, but he had gone. Lucifer clutched the phone receiver in his hand, tapping out Castiel’s number on the little buttons four different times before giving up. He had to get away, had to escape that woman before she came for him. He was beginning to think that she might have gotten to Castiel, and if that was the case, he would have to do something. 

Lucifer tried to be sensible. He told himself that Castiel wouldn’t leave him anywhere dangerous, but the lack of phone contact was enough to be concerning. Lucifer pulled his jacket and his shoes on, willing himself not to hurt with every tiny movement. He shoved the motel key into his pocket and trekked outside. He had never seen Castiel eat, but he could have simply gone for ice or something. At least Lucifer tried to convince himself, but his denial was doing little for his anxiety. He hadn’t made it very far when he became convinced someone was following him. There was a shuffle of footsteps and the sound of something scraping. Lucifer slid into the shadows between two buildings and held his breath. 

“You don’t have to do that,” the woman called. Lucifer recognized her accent. “I know you’re here.”

“You startled me,” he confessed, leaning against the corner of the building. “You’re Castiel’s friend, right? The woman from the warehouse.”

“Rowena,” she corrected, red lips stretching into a sweetly sinister smile. She looked different now, something haggard in her eyes and the shadows around them. “Not like you don’t know.”

“I don’t. I mean, I forgot your name.”

“Are you still putting up this act? Even after everything you’ve done?”

“…I did as Castiel asked me to. I don’t know anything other than that.” Lucifer tried to step sideways, but he found himself pinned against the wall by an invisible force, gritty edges of brick digging into his back and shoulders.

“You’re a liar,” Rowena hissed. “But of course you’re a liar. The prince, even. Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

“I don’t. I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry?” She laughed then, red hair bouncing around her face as she shook her head. “You killed my son—the King of Hell, the only stability the underworld has had in years. You didn’t have the strength or the gall to do it yourself, so you set up this little charade to get Michael to do it for you.” She stepped closer, fingers curling, and Lucifer felt the pain rattling in his bones. “Fergus was a monster, but he was not your monster to kill, certainly not Michael’s… but you, you are mine now. You’re just a man, not useful at all. Well, mostly. Killing you is going to make me queen, but I’m going to enjoy it too. I’m going to rip you apart, Lucif—”

The blow took her by surprise. Rowena was knocked sideways off her feet and lie splayed across the dirty concrete, dazed for several seconds. The strike must have weakened her, because suddenly Lucifer could breathe. 

“Luce, run.” 

Castiel’s voice. Lucifer looked up in time to see the second strike. Rowena began an incantation in a strange language, but Castiel was faster. He held his hand up and threw her into the opposite wall. She recovered quickly, whispering to herself to conjure a bolt of energy that she threw at Castiel, striking him in the chest. He cried out in pain but didn’t seem to be debilitated, only knocked off his feet briefly. A flick of his wrist brought a shining, silver-white blade to his hand.

“This is not a fight you can win, Rowena.”

“Are you sure? I beat you last time, angel.”

“I’ve learned since then,” Castiel said coldly. “I’m older than you can imagine, and I have a wealth of information as old as this planet at my disposal. Stand down.”

“Or what? You going to kill me, Castiel?”

His grip tightened on the sword. “Yes.”

Rowena scowled, but Castiel outmaneuvered her. Every time she opened her mouth to speak, he threw her with an invisible flux of power, and the few attacks she managed to land on him did little besides knock him off his feet and irritate him. 

“Enough.” Castiel pushed Rowena to her knees with a gesture and pressed his blade against her throat. 

“All right, Castiel. You win. I should have known when there was only one bed.”

“I have little reason not to kill you.”

“I can be useful. Amara is still out there, and you’ve more than proven that you’re not to trifled with.” Rowena looked different there, kneeling with tears in her eyes. “You might need that book. You might—”

“Go,” Castiel snapped, turning away from her. “If you come near me or him again, if you set foot in Hell, do anything other than go peacefully and wait for me, and only me, to call on you, and I will kill you. Do not doubt that.” He slid the sword into his coat and reached to help Lucifer up from where he had slumped against the wall. “Are you all right?”

“Am I—Are you crazy? What the hell was that?”

“A close call.” Castiel pulled Lucifer’s arm over his shoulders to lift him up. “It’s not something I can or should explain here. We need to take precautions.”

Lucifer pulled away. “So kill her before she escapes.”

“That… would be unwise.” Castiel sighed and looked over his shoulder. “She’s already gone, and your safety is a priority. Please. Come with me.” Castiel offered his hand out, and Lucifer glowered at it for several seconds before he took it.

***

The wound on Lucifer’s shoulder had reopened in the fight, and Castiel frowned as he dabbed fresh blood away with a towel.

“I don’t think you’re getting the deposit back on this room,” Lucifer muttered.

“I’m not concerned with the deposit or the room. Here, take these pills, and we need to go.” 

Lucifer scrunched his nose, but he did as Castiel asked, draining the glass of water and lying back as the angel began to throw their scattered belongings into a bag. “Why are we running? You could have killed her.”

“I could have,” Castiel agreed, “but I didn’t. There are some things I cannot kill.”

“What is she?”

“A witch and a very powerful one at that. She’s the only person with a working translation of the Book of the Dead and also the only one who knows the location of the codex that would allow for anyone else to begin to translate. She also has the magical aptitude to make such spells useful. It’s not a resource we can afford to risk in our current situation.” 

“Witches are real,” Lucifer mumbled, pressing the heels of his palms over his eyes. “And you think this one is just going to stay away because you used your deep, scary voice?” 

Castiel glared. “Rowena has been smart thus far. It was foolish to think there would be no backlash from Crowley’s death, but we’re all better off for it now.”

“What about the other woman?”

“What other woman?”

“Tall, wavy hair, always in a black dress.”

Castiel tensed. “That’s not something you need to worry about right now,” he said quietly.

“Oh, so we’re back to that.”

“Back to what?”

“You not telling me anything. You were so upfront about the witch you didn’t kill that I forgot how secretive you normally are.”

“It’s for your protection,” Castiel muttered, throwing clothes into the bag.

“My protection.” Lucifer scowled. “Right.”

Castiel looked hurt. “Have I not protected you thus far? I know I haven’t been perfect, but Luce, you can’t imagine what’s out there. You can’t imagine what wants…”

“Wants to kill me? You’re right. I can’t. Because you won’t tell me anything.”

Castiel lifted the bag onto his shoulder and carried it out to the car without a word, leaving Lucifer to stare angrily at the door until he returned. “We’ll stop and get you some more medicine on the way,” he said, almost conversationally. “I don’t want you to be in pain.”

“Just clueless and terrified,” Lucifer spat.

“…I don’t want you to be those things either,” Castiel said softly. He zipped Lucifer’s jacket up and fixed the collar around his neck. “Has it occurred to you that it’s better that you not know the things you don’t know?” 

“There’s a whole world of crap I don’t understand trying to kill me, and I don’t know why. Did I… Did I do something?”

“I don’t know how to answer that right now. Please get in the car.”

Lucifer wobbled when he stood up, reaching out instinctively to catch himself. Castiel caught him instead, hands strong and surprisingly gentle as they steered Lucifer towards the door. He dropped into the front seat and lay his head back, feeling Castiel reach across him to buckle his safety belt a few moments later. 

 

Lucifer thought they must have driven for hours. He drifted in and out of consciousness but was almost certain they had passed the same restaurant with a big yellow M outside three times. Castiel looked nervous, jaw clenched, hands tight on the wheel, eyes darting to the rear view mirror every other second. 

“Are we being followed?” Lucifer asked.

“I don’t think so, no. I’m merely being cautious.”

“Always a good plan.” Lucifer reached over and fixed back and errant strand of the angel’s hair. He didn’t know why. “Where are we going?”

“My friend’s place, I think.” Castiel smiled. “Meg was very careful.”

“Meg… That sounds familiar, but…” Lucifer shook his head. “Nothing.”

“I’m sorry.”

“So why don’t you just tell me? Do I know her?”

“I know you met. I don’t know what your relationship was. She—she’s gone now.”

Lucifer heard the catch in his voice and turned. Castiel wasn’t glancing in the mirrors so much now, just kept his eyes fixed straight ahead on the road, but his hands were shaking on the wheel.

“Castiel, I’m so sorry. Do you want to tell me what happened?”

Castiel shook his head and wiped his eyes quickly. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. …You sound like you really loved her.”

“I… Yes.” Castiel swallowed thickly. “She was my only friend for a long time. …Crowley killed her. I couldn’t do anything. I thought someone was protecting her, and by the time I got back, I…” His hands were shaking on the wheel now, tiny half sobs sticking in his throat. 

“Pull over,” Lucifer said. “Right in here.”

“I’m sorry,” Castiel said again, obediently making the turn. “I can’t even take you somewhere safe right.”

“You’ve done a great job. If anything, you’re a little overprotective.”

“I don’t… I don’t want that to happen to you.”

“He looked dead to me, what I saw.”

“He is.”

“Good,” Lucifer said. “I’m glad.” He hesitated a moment and then reached to lay his hand on Castiel’s shoulder. 

“I thought I would be too, and I am. I just… imagined it would feel different.” Castiel inhaled sharply. “I’m fine now. We can’t afford to stop moving just yet.”

“Castiel, I can drive if you need a break.”

“…Do you know how to drive?”

“Probably. Things come back, right? I’ll go slow.”

“You’re injured and on narcotics.”

“Hours ago. I’m wide awake.”

“Then you’re in pain,” Castiel said. “You could have a concussion from falling. It’s unsafe for you to operate a motor vehicle.”

“All right. What about that place over there?” Lucifer asked, pointing to a small bistro lit up down the street. “We could go get something to eat.”

“I don’t have to eat.”

“People do all kinds of things they don’t have to do, and besides, I have to eat unless you want me tossing my cookies on the floorboard of your car.”

Castiel squinted at him. “You have not eaten any cookies, and wouldn’t that indicate—”

“Expression, angel,” Lucifer said lightly. “Those pills don’t go so well on an empty stomach. Come on, at least a cup of coffee, Castiel.”

“I did once acquire a taste for coffee,” Castiel murmured. He looked thoughtful for a moment, making a noise suspiciously like a sniffle before turning the car towards the restaurant. 

 

On the outskirts of town and only a couple hours from closing, the place was almost deserted. The staff was friendly, though, smiling broadly as they escorted Castiel and Lucifer to a corner booth. Castiel didn’t even look at his menu until Lucifer sighed and nudged him under the table.

“A sandwich isn’t going to kill you, Castiel.”

“Everything tastes funny.” 

“Funny how?”

“Strange. Unpleasant. Not the sort of funny that one laughs at.”

Lucifer almost laughed at that. He ordered them identical sandwiches, grilled chicken and fresh vegetables. Castiel seemed mostly interested in coffee, staring at the food like it might come to life and attack him for what seemed like the longest time before Lucifer simply said, “Please?” Castiel made a solid attempt at sulking, shoulders sagging as he picked apart the food, but after the first hesitant bite, he looked surprised.

“…Oh.”

“See? Not so bad, right?”

“It’s not…” Castiel’s brows furrowed together, and he pulled the sandwich apart to inspect it suspiciously. “Maybe there’s something wrong with me.”

“Because you enjoyed a sandwich and a cup of coffee? That’s just living, Castiel.”

“I’m an angel,” Castiel protested. “My senses are different. Food has been mostly unpleasant for some time now.”

Lucifer shrugged his shoulders. “Maybe you were just eating crappy food.”

“Perhaps. This is… enjoyable. Thank you.”

“You paid for it.”

“You convinced me to try it.”

“Fair enough.” Lucifer leaned forward, arms resting against the table. “So you do something for me now. Tell me about Meg.”

“What? Why?”

“I like you, Castiel. I want to know more about you, and this is obviously someone who was very important to you. If you’re upset, talking might help.”

“That seems unlikely.”

“I don’t know. Try.”

So Castiel did. He struggled at first, fidgeting with his coffee cup and recoiling when he accidentally added artificial sweetener. Lucifer switched with him until the waiter could bring a replacement. Even that gesture seemed strange to Castiel, and he spent much of the conversation staring down into the coffee cup like the drink held the answer to some great mystery. 

He started with Meg, glossing over the details of a story about transferring pain and being left at a hospital. He talked about hearing her voice in his sleep and seeing her face when he first woke. Castiel started to tear up, and Lucifer shook his head at an approaching staff member. Castiel apologized, wiped his eyes, and moved on to talking about how he had been estranged from his family. Lucifer mostly listened. There was much in Castiel’s stories that he didn’t understand, and he imagined that the uncensored realities would be even more confusing. He smiled, though, at Castiel’s few happy memories. He smiled back when he talked about naming a bee Meg in his friend’s honor, and Lucifer thought he rather liked this angel’s smile. They stayed until the last ten minutes, no rush to leave with only a handful of other patrons. Castiel left more money than he needed to on the table, and his eyes weren’t so red by the time they walked back outside.


	7. Chapter Seven

It took Castiel almost two hours to find Meg’s old hideout. She was good at disappearing, always well-hidden. Lucifer was quiet for most of the drive, and whenever Castiel looked over to check on him, his eyes were closed. At first, he was just listening to music, but half an hour after rolling his eyes and insisting he didn’t need anything for pain and then taking it anyway, his head had lolled against the window. Castiel pulled over, reclined Lucifer’s seat back, and resumed driving. He resisted the urge to look over, to watch Lucifer’s expression as he slept. He seemed strangely peaceful, and he had never seemed particularly peaceful when Castiel had been his vessel. Lucifer had kept mostly to himself, but there was always something there, a distance hidden in the biting sarcasm and the bitter jokes. He was anesthetized now, Castiel realized, in more ways than one.

Castiel coaxed Lucifer out of the car with an arm around him, and it was a little endearing to watch what should have been an archangel wrinkle his nose up with agitation at having been woken. Lucifer stumbled more than once, and Castiel could feel him growing heavier by the time they reached the small underground room. He eased Lucifer onto the mattress shoved in one corner and tried to ignore the way Meg dotted the room as he dug through his bag for medication. Lucifer’s skin was pale and clammy, and Castiel had caught the way his legs shook for a moment out of the car. An angel would have healed by now, even without the aid of Heaven. An archangel would have healed instantly. 

“Back to babying me?” Lucifer asked, but there was less of an edge to his voice now. He swallowed the pills without waiting for an answer. 

“You’re not a baby,” Castiel said, screwing the top back onto a juice bottle. “I don’t mean to treat you like one. I just don’t want you to be hurt.”

“I think that ship has sailed, Castiel.” Lucifer bent forward, face twisting with pain as he fumbled with his shoe laces. 

“Let me do that.”

Lucifer fell across the bed with an uneven little laugh and stared up at the ceiling as Castiel picked his leg up. “This isn’t babying at all. …I did put them on myself, you know.”

“You did, and if you hadn’t been recently injured, you could take them off yourself as well.” Castiel shook his head as he reached for Lucifer’s other leg. “Why are you so opposed to being cared for?”

“Because I’m not.”

“Not what?”

“Cared for. …I don’t know.”

“I talked to you.”

“What do you want me to talk about?” Lucifer asked. “I don’t know anything. Well, that’s not true. I know you treat me like I’m made of glass, but I don’t know why. I know there’s apparently a line of people waiting to kill me, but I don’t know who they are or what they want. I know to be afraid, Castiel, but I don’t know what exactly I’m supposed to be afraid of… so it’s just everything.”

Castiel was quiet for a moment. His hand was still cradling Lucifer’s ankle, and he squeezed it affectionately before lifting Lucifer’s legs up onto the bed and sitting down beside him. “I was trying to protect you. I’m sorry.”

“I know you meant well.”

“But that’s insufficient, isn’t it?” Castiel sighed. “I don’t think now is the time to have this conversation, and I will consider your position, but you are cared for. I wouldn’t have tried so hard if I didn’t care.”

“I know. I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t know why I did.”

“Your feelings are important. I’m sorry if I didn’t realize that before now.” Castiel unfolded a blanket and draped it over Lucifer’s body. “Rest,” he whispered, hesitating only a second before reaching and running his fingers through Lucifer’s hair. It was softer than he had expected, slightly damp with the sweat of pain or fever but not unpleasant for it. 

Lucifer moved once like he was leaning into Castiel’s hand, but he mumbled something about being tired and then grew very still. Castiel kept touching him, listening to his breathing grow slow and deep. He knew the pain of the Cage, a small fraction of what Lucifer had endured and only secondhand, but it was enough for Castiel to be certain that Lucifer would be better off never remembering it—unless he already did.

After only an hour or so, Lucifer started mumbling in his sleep. His face twisted up, and he tossed and turned, tangling himself in blankets and growing only more frustrated for it. Castiel set his phone aside and leaned closer. The words were slurred and jumbled, but Lucifer was speaking Enochian. Castiel could catch an occasional word, fire or pain or help. Tears crept down Lucifer’s face, but he didn’t wake. Castiel grabbed his shoulder.

“Luce, you need to wake up now.”

Lucifer didn’t. Instead, he pleaded for his siblings, babbled something about his father as Castiel shook his shoulders.

“You’re having a nightmare. You need to wake up.” Castiel lifted Lucifer up, one hand cradling the back of his neck as he called to him in Enochian. “Brother, please.”

Lucifer gasped. His body tensed, arms around Castiel in an instant. He held tight.

“It’s all right,” Castiel whispered. “You were dreaming.”

“Was I? …I can never remember.”

“Yes. A nightmare. Wherever you thought you were, you are not. You’re here with me.”

Lucifer nodded, resting his head on Castiel’s shoulder. “Are you going to stay here?”

“I don’t require—Yes. Yes, I am.”

Castiel lay closer to Lucifer than he had the first time, close enough to watch him, to touch him, to hear him breathe. Lucifer closed his eyes once Castiel started toying with his hair again, and he seemed less inclined towards nightmares if Castiel stayed close to him. Early stirrings were calmed with a whisper or a touch, and it was close to dawn when Castiel realized he had been drifting in and out of sleep to give them.

***

Castiel was concerned about how much Lucifer was sleeping, but he’d come to find a comfort in it as well. Lucifer’s nightmares gave him a reason to stay close, and it was more pleasant than Castiel had imagined to lie next to someone and enjoy their peace. Sometimes he talked while Lucifer slept, telling him about his past and about his own troubling nightmares that he never had to sleep to see. Other times, Castiel found that the shared calm was the perfect environment to facilitate his own mental shut-off, and though he didn’t need it, sleep was one of the things Castiel had once come to enjoy.

The ringing phone was an unpleasant end to Castiel’s relaxation. He rolled over without thinking and found his face pressed close to Lucifer’s shoulder. There was an arm around him then, and Castiel could feel himself pulled closer, even embraced. He shut his eyes again. The phone rang a second time.

“It’s just going to keep doing that until you get up and get it,” Lucifer murmured, sighing as he let him go. 

“…I’m sorry. I have to…” Castiel sat up and pressed the phone to his ear. “Sam? Is everything okay?”

“Hey, Cas. Yeah, everything’s about the same, really. …Is this a bad time?”

“No. Did you find something?”

“Actually, yeah. We think we might have a lead on Lucifer’s grace.”

“Is that so?” Castiel pulled the blanket over Lucifer’s shoulders, and he turned over, arms around his pillow, too sleepy to listen.

“Yeah. We were trying to go the route you suggested, looking for grace like we did with Anna, but her grace had been on Earth much longer, long enough to foster significant creation.”

“A valid point,” Castiel said like he was considering it for the first time, “but hers was also much smaller and not nearly so powerful. You have to account for that in your calculations.”

“We did that, Cas, and we found a couple of things.” Sam rustled papers on the other end of the line. “Let’s see… We had an alleged meteor shower undocumented by NASA reported in Iowa, a series of cancer remissions in Georgia, and someone claiming their mother rose from the dead in Oregon.”

“Those all sound like potential leads, yes.” Castiel glanced back at Lucifer to make sure he was still sleeping before slipping out the door.

“They’re leads, kind of underwhelming, but get this. There was also a report of mysterious white lights up in Hellam, Pennsylvania.”

“That seems vague, Sam.”

“Sure, except that Hellam, Pennsylvania is purportedly the site of seven gates to Hell. Sounds related to Lucifer, doesn’t it?”

“Potentially, yes. I suppose you and Dean will be driving up there to check?”

“Well, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about, Cas. I talked to Michael, and you remember how Anna was able to sense her grace once we got her memories back? Michael thinks that Lucifer might be the same way, so if we can jog his memory, he might be able to help us find it.”

Castiel leaned against the door, spinning a button on his shirt back and forth between his fingers. “Michael wants me to bring Lucifer there, Sam. He’ll say anything to get his hands on him.”

“I hear you, Cas, and I understand your concerns, but I don’t think Michael’s looking to hurt him so much anymore. I mean, the guy’s been a wreck.” Sam lowered his voice to a whisper. “I think he thought Chuck was faking it or something. He’s pretty messed up.”

“That sounds more like Michael,” Castiel said. “The first part, I mean. Michael being a wreck is… unfathomable. Did he have any ideas about Lucifer’s memories?”

“He did, actually. He thinks you should bring him here, and Cas, I know what you’re thinking.”

“I assure you, you don’t.”

Sam’s voice dropped again. “You care about him. I get that, but how ever his memories are right now, he’s still Lucifer.”

“I know who he is, Sam, and I won’t sacrifice him. Not again. I’m sorry.”

“Again? What are you—never mind. Nobody is trying to kill Lucifer, Cas. We need his help. Michael thinks he might be able to wake him up long enough for him and Lucifer to talk. I mean, if anyone can job his memory, it’s God, right?”

“They were close, yes,” Castiel agreed.

“If I talk to Michael and sort this out, will you bring Lucifer here and see if Chuck jogs his memory? Please, Cas.”

“…Promise he won’t be hurt.”

“I promise. We will protect him.”

“Even from Michael, Sam.” 

“The bunker has all kinds of protections and wards. Michael has been here because we let him, and he hasn’t really made much trouble. Believe me, I’m surprised too.”

“And when we find his grace, we return it to him. These are my terms.”

“Sure, absolutely.” Sam was quiet for several seconds. “Cas, is there something you’re not telling me?” he asked

At first, Castiel didn’t answer. He stood with his back against the door, senses stretched to monitor Lucifer’s condition. Sometimes his breathing sounded labored, his pulse sluggish. “Why do you ask?”

“Because you’re being really protective. I’m not saying it’s a bad thing, just, it’s Lucifer…”

“He’s hurt, Sam.”

“Okay. From Crowley, right? How bad?”

“Among others.He’s only been awake four or five hours a day. He’s in pain. He has nightmares. He—”

“That sounds really dangerous. Can you not heal him?”

“I tried.” Castiel’s voice caught. “I don’t know if it’s because the Host usually aids in healing or because I lost some of my grace. Maybe there’s something about… whatever he is now. I don’t know. He doesn’t seem to be dying or getting any weaker, but…”

Sam sighed. “Listen to me, Cas, I know you’re worried, but this isn’t something you can do alone. If this is what it sounds like, we need to get his grace back inside him as soon as possible, for his sake and for Chuck’s. Let us help you.”

“I… Okay. Give me some time.” 

Castiel hung up the phone without saying goodbye. He stepped back into the room and found Lucifer still sleeping. It was a relief, but Sam’s words stuck with him. Sam had seemed to have an idea about Lucifer’s condition, and once Castiel had packed up and moved Lucifer to the car, he was free to explore it. 

Again, he drove in circles, going through all the methods Meg had taught him to cover his tracks. Only once he was actually in route to the bunker did Castiel pick up his habit of talking to Lucifer as he slept. He began with an apology for any danger he might have put him in but told Lucifer he was sure that Michael would do anything to save Chuck. Castiel told him about Hell, about the prison at the bottom and how he feared that place might have changed the former leader of Heaven’s armies. He talked about his own nightmares again, how vividly he had hallucinated after taking on Sam’s pain but that he’d had to. Sam would have died otherwise. The human body couldn’t withstand that sort of psychological and spiritual damage.

The words were no sooner out of Castiel’s mouth than the pieces started to click into place. Lucifer’s pain, his dreams, the way his eyes darted around the room watching nothing sometimes—all of it was symptomatic of the Cage. Castiel pulled the car over, twisting in his seat to look at Lucifer, fully convinced that the revelation had come too late and Lucifer would be nothing more than a corpse curled in Castiel’s back seat. But he was just sleeping, breathing, alive. 

“I am so sorry for everything that has happened to you,” Castiel whispered as he turned back onto the main road. “I know this might sound strange after everything, but I don’t want you to die. Not now, not having seen… all this. I—” He swallowed the moisture clinging to the back of his throat and shook his head. “The Winchesters are good men. I believe this. I have to believe it, and the bunker is the safest place I know. We need you, Luce. I need… I…” Castiel wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. “This is stupid. You can’t even hear me.”

Castiel glanced up in the rear view mirror one time to check, but Lucifer gave no response. Castiel stayed quiet after that.


	8. Chapter Eight

Lucifer couldn’t always hold onto Castiel’s words, but the angel’s voice carried through the darkness. He could hear the familiar whispers over the roar of fire in his dreams, and if he focused hard enough, sometimes Lucifer could follow the sound back. Now wasn’t one of those times, at least not yet. Lucifer could hear Castiel crying and saying his name a lot. There were two other voices, but everything they said was hushed and distant, and Lucifer got the feeling they weren’t talking to him so much as they were just talking around him. 

Castiel was still talking to him when Lucifer woke up. His head was bowed, resting on his arms where they lie folded on the bed, and he was speaking an unfamiliar language, but the tone was there. Lucifer had to struggle to lift his arm, had to focus to move his fingers through Castiel’s hair. 

“You’re awake.”

“You’ve been blathering in my ear there for hours. I figured I should say something.”

“Apologies,” Castiel murmured. “I didn’t mean to blather.”

“That was a joke, Castiel. …What’s the matter?”

“You’ve been sleeping for two days. I was worried.”

“I didn’t mean to worry you.” Lucifer smiled, hand dropping to Castiel’s shoulder. “Where are we?”

“An underground bunker belonging to a secret society,” Castiel said. “My friends are legacies.”

“Oh. Naturally.” 

“They have some ideas about restoring your memories. Do you feel up to talking?”

“With you? Always.”

Castiel shrugged his coat off and sat down on the bed, keeping his eyes almost intently down. “I never wanted to have to ask this of you.”

“That bad, huh?” Lucifer winced. “Can’t say I’m surprised. An awful lot of people want me dead for me to have been a good guy.”

“Propaganda, I think now. Besides, plenty of good people are killed.”

“Famous enough to have propaganda? Color me impressed.” Lucifer reached over, easing Castiel’s white-knuckled grip on nothing and sliding their fingers together. “They want me dead whether I know why or not, right?”

Castiel stared at their joined hands. “Yes, but the remembering itself might be painful. You have an unpleasant history, Luce. I’m sorry. I wish I had more comforting words.”

Lucifer took a deep breath and nodded, turning possibilities over in his head. “When are we going to do this?”

“Tomorrow, I think. I wanted to give you time to recover, but we’re running out of time.”

“Someone important then? No, I’m sorry. No guessing.” Lucifer squeezed Castiel’s hand. “I’m content to be who I am tonight.”

Castiel looked up, squinting in that confused way Lucifer had come to find so endearing. “What do you mean?”

“I mean if this plan works, then I go back to being whoever I used to be tomorrow, and I get the feeling you don’t like him… me so much.”

Castiel seemed surprised for a moment. His mouth formed words with no sound several times before he turned his attention back to their hands again. “I like you just fine,” he said softly. “I was misinformed in the past, but there have always been pleasant memories in our history.”

“We have a history.”

“Yes.”

“With pleasant memories.”

“…Yes, but unpleasant ones as well, I’m afraid. Which is why it would be wrong for me to take advantage of your not knowing.”

“What do you mean?”

“I might be someone you weren’t terribly fond of before.”

“Oh, I don’t believe that,” Lucifer said. “If I wasn’t fond of you before, I was wrong.”

Castiel kept his head turned away, but the color showed on his cheeks. “You can’t just say things like that,” he muttered.

“The person I am is very fond of the person you are, Castiel. That’s all I know to tell you.”

“And I care about you.” Castiel swallowed thickly before he looked up again. “I don’t want to mislead you. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t.”

Lucifer lifted Castiel’s hand, lips pressing over the backs of his fingers and the inside of his wrist. One small tug had Castiel leaning closer, and Lucifer saw him closing his eyes in anticipation. He did the same. If he had ever kissed anyone before, he had forgotten it now, and Castiel was an overwhelming sensory experience. His lips were warm and soft, dry without being rough, and the way his breath caught in his throat made for a pleasant sound. He smelled nice too, something clean and pure and familiar but nothing Lucifer could place. Heaven, he thought briefly. Apparently, angels tasted like Heaven and just a little bit of coffee.

“I’m sorry,” Castiel said, pulling back at once. “I… got carried away.”

“That’s a good thing, right?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps. I’ve only ever… twice, I suppose, and neither time was like that.”

There was something even more charming about Castiel when he was flushed and flustered, stammering over his words. It was something that might be gone by tomorrow. Lucifer kissed him again, and Castiel responded with featherlight touches across Lucifer’s chest, like he was checking for injuries.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said again. 

“I’m not that fragile.”

“That’s not what I mean. What if you regret this tomorrow? What if—”

“Would me knowing make you feel any differently about me than you do right now?” Lucifer asked, voice catching over the words. He wasn’t sure he wanted the answer.

“I… No. This person, as you are now, is still you, and I… I have come to care a great deal for you.” Castiel sat up on his knees, taking a slow, steadying breath. “I confess, when I said twice before, I meant kissing. I’ve only ever engaged in sexual activity with one person. It wasn’t pleasant.” He crept forward. “I would like this to be pleasant for you.”

“I want this to be pleasant for both of us. Don’t do anything you don’t want, Castiel.”

“I want to,” Castiel whispered, seeming surprised by his own words. He was shaking as he crawled forward, moving one knee to Lucifer’s other side and resting on his lap. Castiel smiled then, fleeting and nervous but so beautiful in its sincerity that Lucifer forgot how to breathe for a moment. 

Castiel flicked his wrist towards the lamp to extinguish it. He seemed emboldened by the dark, wrapping his arms around Lucifer’s neck before he kissed him, and Lucifer could taste the hunger on Castiel’s lips. Castiel had the air someone who had been alone a long time, and even though Lucifer couldn’t recall his own eternity of isolation, he felt it. Except when he was kissing Castiel. Then, nothing else seemed to matter.

Lucifer wasn’t sure what experiences he might have had before, but every touch from Castiel felt new and exciting. He was gentle to the point of delicacy, fingertips lightly stroking memorized paths of unmarred skin between bruises and abrasions. Castiel tossed his own shirt to the foot of the bed before reaching for Lucifer’s. “Still not hurting you?” Castiel asked. Lucifer shook his head, and then, as if to prove his point, he pulled Castiel against him, letting their bodies press flush together. Castiel was warm, and Lucifer could feel the tiny twitches of anticipation beneath his skin, could feel Castiel’s heart hammering in his chest against where Lucifer’s was doing the same—almost in rhythm. 

Castiel kissed him gently, sprinkling kisses over each new expanse of skin, and it felt affectionate, even romantic. Lucifer could barely see through the darkness, but Castiel was close enough, his eyes bright enough that Lucifer could find them. They grew wide in the most beautiful way when Lucifer’s fingers skimmed up the inside of Castiel’s thigh, and Castiel whispered something to him in his strange, angelic tongue. Lucifer didn’t know what it meant, but he liked the way it sounded. He liked Castiel’s voice in general, especially the hitched breathing and the half-stifled moans. Lucifer heard his own voice before he was really aware he had made any noise. He was becoming more and more certain nobody had ever touched him like Castiel did.

They moved together, each clinging to the other. Castiel whispered to Lucifer that he was going to tire himself out, and Lucifer laughed, turning over to let his angel straddle him again. He moved his hands over Castiel’s body, starting at his knees and moving all the way up to cup his face and pull him down for another kiss. Lucifer committed it all to memory, every moment leading up to the delicious clench that blanked his mind out and stole all his pain. 

Lucifer felt at peace lying tangled in sweaty sheets and listening to Castiel’s breathing slow. He felt Castiel’s hands searching for him and drew close, resting against Castiel’s back with one arm over his waist. He kissed the line of Castiel’s neck until he felt drowsy and then closed his eyes.

“Castiel?”

“Yes?”

“Promise me something.”

“What?” Castiel started to turn his head but stopped at the way Lucifer was nuzzled against his neck. 

Lucifer kissed him again. “Please don’t forget me.”

“Never. Don’t forget me either.”

Lucifer shook his head and held Castiel closer. Whoever he had to become tomorrow, he would always have this memory to comfort him.

***

Castiel brought him fresh fruit in the morning. They didn’t talk. Lucifer felt like the condemned man taking his last meal, and even so, sitting in bed sharing food with Castiel was a good thing. He was still occasionally mistrustful of food, often looked like he was bracing for a blueberry to attack him. The way Castiel scrunched his face up sometimes was another detail burned into Lucifer’s mind.

“Are you ready?” Castiel asked, and the answer was no.

“I know you wouldn’t ask me this if it wasn’t important, and I’ve seen enough weird over the past couple of weeks to know that something is going on. If I can save you—”

“Is that why you’re doing this?”

“For the most part, yes,” Lucifer said.

Castiel squeezed his arm. “You’re very brave.” He kissed Lucifer’s lips quickly when nobody was looking and kept a hand on his back as he escorted him down the hall.

The man waiting for them was a small, fragile looking thing. He was wrapped up on the couch, gray color of his skin made to look even more sickly by the sheen of sweat. It clung to his hair, rending his curls floppy and limp. His eyes were red, but Lucifer couldn’t tell if that was because he was sick or because he had been crying. Probably both, he decided.

“Hello,” Lucifer said softly, and the crumpled figure jumped in surprise.

“Oh, you’re… here.”

“Luce, this is Chuck,” Castiel explained, holding Lucifer’s arm as he guided him to a chair and squeezing his shoulder as he sat. “I… will leave you two to talk. Call if you need me.”

Lucifer watched him go before he turned back to Chuck. He felt a swell of pity for the man’s condition, perhaps a dull ache at the center of his chest, but nothing he could make sense of. 

Chuck’s hands were shaking as he leaned forward, and his teacup clattered against the saucer when he laid it on the table. “So, you’re blond, huh? …No. No, that’s not what I wanted to say.”

“You were expecting me to know you,” Lucifer said. “I’m sorry. I don’t.”

Chuck took a deep breath and shut his eyes. His lashes fluttered, and tears crept past in spite of what looked like a solid effort to restrain them. “That’s probably better,” he said after a moment. “I don’t think I’ve caused you anything but pain for a long time, and I am so, so sorry.”

“Don’t… don’t cry. It’s not so bad, right? I’m okay.”

“You are. You are okay, and I wish that were enough, Luce. I wish it were.” Chuck breathed something like a laugh but not quite. “Luce, huh? I like that. It’s a good name.”

“Not the one you know me by, I take it.”

“I’ve known you by so many names. I think that one is as good as any.”

“Everyone wants me to remember, but nobody is willing to just tell me.”

“Memories are tricky like that. We would likely just send you into shock.” Chuck fumbled for his drink, nearly dropping the cup for the unrelenting tremor, and Lucifer leaned forward to steady him, cradling the man’s smaller hands in his own. “You’re very kind,” Chuck said softly. “I’m glad to see that. I think it was my fault that you forgot…”

Lucifer was quiet, staring at the curled fingers resting in his palms. The cup was abandoned, and Chuck’s hands were just laying in Lucifer’s. Nothing about their shape or form was familiar, but the warmth beneath that skin had seized Lucifer’s insides at the first touch. He skimmed his thumbs over the insides of Chuck’s wrists, barely able to feel a pulse there. This man was dying.

“Who are you to me?” Lucifer asked him.

Chuck shook his head. “Nobody good for you, really, but… I loved you. In spite of everything, I want you to know that: I loved you. When I saw what happened, I just kept thinking, ‘Please let him be okay. Whatever power I have left, just let it be enough to make him safe one time,’ and I think I messed even that up.”

“If I could fix this…”

“You’d give anything, I know. That was always the problem, wasn’t it?” Chuck smiled then, arms poking out of the blankets as he reached to touch Lucifer’s face, wiping tears. “You’re the one crying now.”

“I don’t know why.”

“That’s all right, son.”

Lucifer closed his eyes, pressing his cheek against Chuck’s palm. “I’m trying. I don’t want you to die, but I can’t…”

“I know. If me dying is the way this has to end, then I’m okay with it. What I’ve created will live on, and that’s… that’s a good legacy.” Chuck sank back onto his pillows. “Come sit with me, Luce. Just for a while.”

Lucifer left his chair and walked around the coffee table, hesitating only a moment before sitting down on the couch beside Chuck’s legs. Chuck’s hand came up, pale and wavering, and Lucifer took it between his own and held it fast until Chuck was still. His breathing was uneven, but he smiled once before his eyes rolled closed. Lucifer stayed there until he was certain his own eyes were dry.

 

He found Castiel in the kitchen waiting with a cup of coffee and too optimistic eyes. His friends were gathered behind him. Lucifer didn’t want to talk to them, so he just shook his head and walked away without comment. Castiel followed him. 

“Wait. What happened?”

“Nothing,” Lucifer said. “I’m sorry I failed you.”

“You don’t remember anything?”

“I feel awful, and I remember feeling awful, and that’s it.”

“I’m sorry,” Castiel said, hand resting on Lucifer’s shoulder.

“Me too, Castiel. Me too.”

“These things are complicated, Luce. It might just take some time. You’re still recovering. Perhaps you should rest.”

Lucifer nodded, leaning into Castiel’s hand for a moment without realizing it. He wandered back down the hall, flopping face down on his bed and not expecting Castiel to follow. He did, about a minute behind, closing the door behind him and sitting at Lucifer’s side. 

“I’m never good in these types of situations,” Castiel said. There was a heavy pause before his hand moved down Lucifer’s back, following the curve of his spine. “I feel like I should say something comforting.”

“You’re doing fine,” Lucifer said, voice muffled by the pillow.

“Hardly, but it is kind of you to say so. …I wish I could tell you everything will be okay, but I don’t think you would care for false certainty. I can safely say that I don’t think it’s over, though. We will fight up to the last second, and we are well-allied. This place contains a wealth of forgotten lore, and the Winchesters… the Winchesters are remarkable men. They will find a way. They always find a way. …Did that help?”

Lucifer shook his head. “Your friends want to kill me.”

“I won’t allow that.”

“It’s good of you to say so.”

“Sometimes words are insufficient. Actions speak much louder.” Castiel slid onto the bed, stretching out and drawing close. His hand moved up Lucifer’s back, fingers stretching to comb through his hair, and Castiel leaned close enough to kiss his temple.

Lucifer turned to face him, hoping to blame the flushed dampness of his face on having been buried in a pillow, but Castiel didn’t ask. He just brushed Lucifer’s hair back and kissed him softly. A part of Lucifer couldn’t help but be glad that he still had this, still had Castiel, but he had seen the sky. There was no denying the situation.

“Rest,” Castiel whispered, pulling Lucifer from his thoughts. 

“Stay with me.”

“I will, as long as you will have me. 

“You’re setting yourself up for a rather long engagement, Castiel.”

“I think that is my hope, yes. Now rest. We’ll figure things out after. …It will be all right.”

Lucifer closed his eyes. He could feel Castiel tucking pillows around him, cradling injuries and supporting sprawled limbs. The light touching was a near constant, and Lucifer was lulled by it. He’d seen enough of the Winchester brothers not to place his trust there, but Castiel hadn’t led him astray yet. Lucifer tried to move, finding himself heavy with sleep and struggling against it in his search for Castiel’s body. There was a kiss on his forehead and a whisper of reassurance before Lucifer got his arm around Castiel again. The embrace made everything in his head quiet again. Castiel had said it would be all right, and at least in that moment, Lucifer believed him.


	9. Chapter Nine

Waking up was strange no matter how many times Castiel did it, but with Lucifer breathing slow and even beside him, it was pleasant. Castiel lingered. He tucked a blanket around Lucifer and set some pain medicine and a glass of water on the nightstand before he went. The Winchesters were waiting for him, and neither one looked pleased. Castiel had already ensured that his clothes were smooth and his hair lying flat. He sat down at the table and waited expectantly.

“Nice night?” Dean asked acerbically. 

Sam frowned at him. “Morning, Cas.”

“Good morning, Sam, Dean.”

“How’s your boyfriend?” Dean watched Castiel over the edge of his coffee cup, eyes dark.

Again, Sam frowned at him. “Dean. Did Lucifer remember anything after last night, Cas?”

“Unfortunately, no, but he is trying.”

“Well, we can’t wait anymore.”

“What Dean is trying to say is that we think we may have found another option. We’ve talked to Rowena, and there’s a spell in the book that might let us utilize soul power as a means to fight Amara.”

“It is wise to have a backup plan, I suppose,” Castiel said, betraying nothing. “Any potential sources for these souls?”

“We’ve been waiting to hear back from Michael, but he hasn’t answered the phone we gave him.”

Dean scowled at that, and Sam sighed at him.

“I see. I could try to find Michael. I know where the gate is, and I’ve had contact with several angels on Earth over the past several months.”

“That’s great, Cas,” Sam said. “Thanks.”

Castiel stood, but he hesitated. “If I do this, you will look after Lucifer in my absence, won’t you?”

“Slumber party with Satan.” Dean chuckled bitterly. “Awesome.”

“…Don’t call him that.” Castiel met Dean’s incredulous look with one of his own.

“Excuse me?”

Sam held his hands up. “Guys, please. Dean, why don’t you go get something to eat? Cas, please go find Michael. I will make sure Lucifer is safe and, um, fed if he needs to be. We won’t tell him anything.”

“Thank you. …This isn’t his fault,” Castiel said. Dean was still glaring at him when he left.

 

Rowena was sitting in a hotel suite drinking tea when Castiel found her. She looked up at him, smiling as she set the dainty little cup back on the table. The walls were streaked with wards, and Castiel could sense several spells. Some of the Enochian seemed wrong to him, though. It made him smile.

“I would suggest you work on your sigils,” Castiel said, bringing his angel blade to his hand, “but it no longer matters.”

“No greeting then?” she asked. “Or does that ridiculous machismo pass for such among you angels. I never can tell.”

Castiel narrowed his eyes, but Rowena just laughed.

“Do I even get to know what I’m being executed for? Or do you just slaughter anyone you’re done with like big brother does?”

“You and I had a deal.”

“Which I am in no violation of. You said not to have any involvement with Hell, and I have not, and you said not to contact you or Lucifer, which I also have not.”

“You contacted the Winchesters,” Castiel said. “They are affiliated with me.”

“Affiliated.” Rowena lifted her eyebrows with a hint of amusement and set her glass down. “Beg your pardon, angel, but the Winchesters contacted me.”

“About their spell.”

“Yes.”

“And you think it will work? You think you can kill the Darkness?”

“I don’t see why not. If God can die, anything can.” Rowena filled her cup from the matching teapot. “Care for tea?” she asked.

“No, and it is not an issue of whether or not she can be killed. It’s one of whether or not you can do it. The Winchesters’ plan depends on amassing a great number of human souls. Heaven won’t agree to that.”

“And why not? The Darkness threatens them as well.”

“The humans are in their charge. It’s Heaven’s job to protect the souls. Lucifer is our best chance.”

“So you say.” Rowena rolled her eyes with a little scowl of disgust. “Lucifer tried to kill me, or should I say he did kill me. Not to mention what he did to Fergus, throwing all of Hell into upheaval. I don’t see why I should help him.”

Castiel slammed his hands down on the table, tea set rattling as he leaned forward. “This is not the time for petty rivalries,” he said. “I kept you alive so that you could use the Book of the Damned. If you can’t do that…”

“What in that book do you think is going to help you, Castiel?”

“Memories. You will find a spell that can restore memories in the book, you will call me when you find it, and you will speak nothing of this to the Winchesters or anyone else in the meantime. Is that clear?”

“Sneaky, sneaky.” Rowena smiled as she rearranged disheveled cups and saucers. “Well, I’m no friend to the Winchesters, so you don’t need to worry about that.” 

“Yes, because you’ve been so forthcoming so far. Just get to work.”

***

Castiel parked his car on the street and ran across the wet grass to the playground. The fact that he made it across the parking lot was alarming. The other angels had been keeping him out of Heaven for some time, and approaching the gateway was normally cause for attack. Now, there was nothing. Castiel held his angel blade as he crept forward.

The first body he found didn’t seem to be an angel. The plainly human woman had been thin and middle-aged with wispy brown hair. Now, she lay sprawled, face down, body broken and arms outstretched in front of her. The child a few feet away, the little girl with twin braids, the one the woman must have thought to be her child, was bent and broken, black ashen wings burnt out around her. Another angel was nearby, a child’s body bent backwards over the rail of a still spinning merry-go-round. A group of friends lay mangled by the swings—three angels, two humans, and another angel had been thrown into the slide with enough force to bend it, burning wings weakening the metal.

Castiel followed the trail of corpses and found a pile of angels strewn around the sandbox. The sand was clumped and colored red with blood. The portal was gone. Castiel had known them. He couldn’t tell them all apart now, not with their graces torn and consumed, but at one point, they had all been a family. He reached to cover the eyes of those who met him with a vacant stare and carefully rearranged any sibling who had fallen in such a way as to threaten dignity. For a moment, Castiel had the urge to move his wings, to simply fly home like he had a hundred times before, but his wings were numb and heavy. Lucifer had carried him the past several times he had seen Heaven. Castiel tried his phone, dialing out to the Winchesters as he jogged back to his car, but he didn’t get an answer. He slammed his foot down on the accelerator and raced back to the bunker.

 

Castiel could tell something was wrong as soon as he walked inside. The Winchesters were huddled up at the table whispering, faces twisted with guilty frowns, and they barely looked up as he approached, running breathless down the stairs.

“Sam, Dean, we have a problem. I went to the gateway to contact Michael, and all the angels—” His voice caught, but the Winchesters just stared at him. Castiel swallowed hard. “I think something is very wrong.”

Sam gestured towards a chair. “Maybe you should sit down, Cas.”

“What’s going on?”

“Michael came by with some not good news. Amara must have figured out he was back because she just launched a major attack on Heaven.”

Castiel paled, sinking into the chair. “And the angels?”

“…They took a hit, Cas. Michael did what he could, but I don’t think he can stand up to Amara, not after just having gotten out of the Cage anyway.”

“The good news is now those douchebags have a real clue about what’s going on,” Dean muttered. “They’ll be more willing to cough up those souls.”

“No. If anything, they’ll guard them more carefully. …Where is Michael now?”

“He left,” Sam said, “but he said that there’s a chance Amara knows what we’re up to. She was friends, or something, with Rowena for a while, and we can’t rule out her having some exposure to the book that way.”

“What we’re up to?” Castiel asked. “Surely Amara is expecting us to fight back.”

“She might know something about the souls. Michael thinks she might be attacking Heaven hoping that the angels seal everything up rather than participate in the attack.”

“Or she may just be hoping to kill enough of us that there’s nobody left to gather the souls.” Castiel sighed and ran his hand down his face. “All right. What about Lucifer? Has he been asleep this whole time?”

Sam shifted uncomfortably and looked to Dean, who merely raised his eyebrows and shook his head in return. 

Castiel felt his blood run cold. “Where is Lucifer?”

“Michael took him. Cas, I’m so sorry. We were—”

“What?!” Castiel’s chair tipped and crashed against the floor as he stood. “You promised you would protect him.”

“Cas, I’m sorry,” Sam began, “but it was Michael. There wasn’t much I could do.”

“The two of you have dealt with angels more times than I care to count.”

“Hey,” Dean snapped. “Don’t you go blaming Sammy for this shit. Your family drama’s not our problem.”

“And yet I have always made—” Castiel held his hands up. “It doesn’t matter. I can’t stand here and debate with you. I need to find him.”

“Cas, man, are you ditching us for freaking Lucifer?”

“I suppose I am.” Castiel picked his chair up, pushed it under the table, and stepped towards the staircase. “Would you like us to return and help with the Darkness, or should we… should we go our own way?”

“If you’re going to find Lucifer instead of staying here with—”

“Of course we want you to come back, Cas,” Sam said, cutting Dean off with a sharp glare. “But we also want you to think about the bigger picture here. If we don’t take down Amara, you and Lucifer are going to be just as dead as anyone else.”

“All the more reason to find him,” Castiel replied, slamming the door behind him when he left.

***

Castiel had no way into Heaven. He had no portal, no wings, no older brother to lend him his wings. The way the elevator moved made Castiel’s stomach lurch, unnatural ascension that it was. He told himself that’s why he was shaking as he made his way to the hotel’s executive suite. Going against Michael was suicide more often than not, but Castiel had survived it once. They were all going to die anyway. He wouldn’t leave Lucifer to suffer alone, though, and if there was one person who could potentially summon an archangel, it was Rowena.

She didn’t come to the door. Castiel thought she was avoiding him, but he couldn’t pick the fancy key card locks by simply mimicking Sam and Dean. Instead, he shorted the system with a pulse of grace and shoved his shoulder into the door to force it open. The pungent, smoky smell hit his nostrils at once, and Castiel recoiled slightly as he entered the room. The light switch on the wall did nothing after several flicks back and forth, all the lamps they were attached to lying broken on the floor. The table was turned over, and Rowena’s tea set as well as what Castiel assumed were a variety of spell implements lay scattered and smashed across the floor. 

Rowena herself looked almost small lying in a crumpled heap among the wreckage. Her skin was pale, but her chest rose and fell with steady breaths. Castiel called to her as he lifted a curtain rod from where it had fallen and enveloped her in sheer curtains. Rowena groaned as she came to, kicking feebly at the fabric and swatting away Castiel’s attempts to help.

“What happened?” she murmured.

Castiel pulled her upright, keeping one hand on her back to steady her. “I was hoping you could tell me,” he said. “You don’t remember who attacked you?”

“Well, give me a minute, angel. Perhaps you could help me to the couch, offer to bring me a glass of water or something?”

Castiel frowned at her, but he did help her up, muttering for her to walk slowly as he guided her across the room, kicking debris out of their way as he went. He filled a glass at the bathroom sink, brought it to her side, and waited.

“Thank you,” she said, fixing her hair with one hand while she steadied the glass with the other. “As to your previous question, of course I remember who attacked me. Archangel Michael is a difficult person to forget.”

“Michael was here?”

“Yes, and judging by his demeanor, he knows all about your little plan.”

“Michael already knew about the souls,” Castiel said. “He was working with the Winchesters to try to get the cooperation of the other angels in Heaven.”

“I am not talking about the souls, Castiel,” Rowena said sharply. “I’m talking about your plan to restore Lucifer’s memories. The spell?”

“The Book of the Damned did have a spell then?”

“Yes, and now Michael has it.”

Castiel winced as he paced back and forth across the room. “Was Lucifer with him?” he asked.

“Yes, and I have to tell you, Castiel, he didn’t look too good.”

Castiel reeled on her. “What happened? What did you see?”

Rowena arched her eyebrows and smiled delicately before taking another sip of water. “My, my, aren’t you awfully hung up?” She laughed lightly. “All right, angel, I will tell you what I know, and in return, you will keep this crazy older brother of yours from knocking down my door again.”

“You tell me what I want to know, and I don’t kill you right now.”

“You think it would be that easy?”

“I think if you don’t help me put a stop to whatever Michael is doing, none of it will matter. Do you think Amara will let you remain simply because you showed her one momentary act of kindness?”

“Of course not.” Rowena slammed her glass down on the nightstand. “That’s why I’ve been trying so hard to help you lot, but you make it damn impossible. Fergus had Hell under control, Castiel. He could have provided us with the souls for this spell if Michael hadn’t obliterated him. Now, we’ve got nothing.”

“I am sorry for your loss,” Castiel said, “but arguing about what would have worked isn’t going to help us take down Amara. Michael and Lucifer may very well be the only chance any of us have at surviving this. You need to tell me.”

“…All right.” Rowena sighed. “Michael was saying that they needed to trip Lucifer’s memories in order to restore his power. He said he knew that you had ‘hired’ me to find a spell for you and ordered I turn the information over to him. I wasn’t looking to get smote like my son, so I did.”

“What’s in the spell?”

“All sorts of things. I had some of the ingredients in my kit, but he took them. The book says that the spell is only guaranteed to be effective with an anchor, something that strongly represents the memories one is looking to recover.”

“What sort of anchor were you going to use with Lucifer?” Castiel asked.

“I hadn’t found one yet, but… Michael said something about taking Lucifer to Hell.”

Castiel’s fists curled at his side, nails digging into his palm hard enough to sting without him ever noticing. “Why would he do that?”

“Maybe he thought Hell would enough to jog Lucifer’s memories?”

Castiel wanted to believe Michael was helping, but the idea of Lucifer vulnerable and confused and human in Hell was more than he could stand. He paced for several more minutes before stopping sort and fixing Rowena a cold, evaluative look. “Are you hurt?”

She sniffed. “A little roughed up, but nothing intolerable. Why?”

“Good.” Castiel took Rowena by the arm, hooking a pair of charmed handcuffs around her wrists before she could protest. “You’re going to take me to Hell,” he said. 

Rowena scoffed. “And if I refuse.”

“You don’t.”


	10. Chapter Ten

It felt like a dream, though Lucifer was sure it wasn’t. He’d woken up comfortable, even happy, smoothing his hair and clothes down for the sake of discretion before going to find Castiel, but Castiel hadn’t been there. Instead, Lucifer had found the other angel with his fists balled and his face twisted as he glowered down at the sick man. He’d only made it two steps down the hallway before Michael had seized him. There had been yelling after that, a lot of yelling and things breaking and then the horrible, oppressive heat that hung all around him. Agonized screams echoed, bouncing off the dingy stone walls, and the smell of smoke and an occasional hint of sulfur clung to the back of Lucifer’s throat. He gagged, stumbling as the angel pulled him forward.

“Still nothing?” Michael demanded. “So far down and you remember nothing?”

“I’m sorry, but you know, you could just tell me.” Lucifer squirmed away from Michael’s grip and leaned against the far wall, coughing the smog from his lungs.

“Do not speak to me in that tone.” Michael reached for him again, but Lucifer slipped away.

“I need to stop for a minute. I can’t remember anything if I’m dead.” 

“If you don’t remember, we might all be dead.” Michael growled in frustration, fingers pressing against his eyes as he paced back and forth. “This was not how this was supposed to go. It should have taken one look, one word, not this.”

Lucifer watched him with sympathy. For an ancient Heavenly messenger, the guy looked like a stressed out kid, one probably coming down from something. He had taken to chewing his thumb as he walked back and forth, pulling at the nail and gnawing on the cuticles.

“What was your name again?” Lucifer asked, and Michael looked at him as if Lucifer had slapped him.

“Michael. I am the archangel Michael.”

“Okay, right. That… sounds important. Look, I don’t know anything about your plan or about what’s trying to tear the damn sun out of the sky, but believe it or not, I’m doing my best here. I get that I’m an ant next to you or whatever, but I really think this would work better if you just told me what I’m missing rather than dragging me off to… wherever the hell we are.”

“Yes,” Michael whispered, taking a step closer.

“What?”

“Hell. You remember? This is Hell.”

Lucifer backed up until he hit another wall. “Oh, God…”

“Yes. All on God’s orders. I had no choice. I didn’t know it would be like this. …I thought you’d be asleep.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Please just let me go.”

“Maybe I should have, but what you did was worse. You knew. You knew, and you did this to me anyway.” Michael spun around. His eyes were red and wet with tears, and the young man’s delicate features were hardly marred by the angry snarl Michael wore. “Can you still feel it? Because I do. No matter how far away from this place I get, it follows me. Do you see fire? Can you imagine Heaven in flames?” 

He lunged, grabbing Lucifer by the wrist and pulling him again. There was that strange rush of wind, almost cool before the air grew thicker and hotter still. A loud rumble echoed up from several layers beneath their feet.

“Do you hurt yet?” Michael shrieked. 

Lucifer thought, for a moment, he could lose him. There was enough smoke and fire here to obliterate visibility if he timed it right, but he’d barely begun to turn when Michael knocked him back with little more than a flippant gesture. 

“I see it in your eyes,” he said. Composed again, he strolled over calmly, smiling as he seized Lucifer’s arm, cut his palm, and squeezed the blood into a small bowl. “The pain overwhelms you. You’re frightened.”

Lucifer jerked away from him, making a fist to staunch blood flow. “It’s Hell. I think fear is the appropriate reaction.”

“I agree with you.” Michael set the bowl at his feet and reached into his pocket for the folded page containing Rowena’s instructions. He knelt then, dipping two fingers in the blood dragging them over the filthy, ashy ground to create an elaborate, albeit dingy, sigil. 

“Can I go now?”

Michael glanced back at him. “Somewhere to be?”

“I need to find Castiel.”

That earned a low, bitter chuckle. “I noticed you two all… tangled up, as it were. I’m not sure which one of you I’m more disappointed in.”

“I don’t think it’s your concern.” Lucifer’s skin crawled, and he looked down, watching beads of red well up between his fingers. “Where is Castiel?” he asked.

“I don’t know. I have no interest in him.” Michael stood, carrying the bowl with him and kneeling again. “Strange that you seem so taken with him and don’t even recognize me. At first, I thought it was because he was the only angel you had contact with, but that’s obviously not the case, which begs the question: what is so special about Castiel?” 

Lucifer didn’t answer him, just watched with cold, narrowed eyes as Michael moved to the third sigil. His fingers twitched.

“By all rights, I should have him killed, traitor that he is. Taking you away, though, that is the—”

“Michael,” Lucifer called, and their eyes met a split second before he struck the bloody sigil with his palm. Michael cried out in outrage as he was driven away, and Lucifer finally exhaled, still shaking with adrenaline. “Thank you, Castiel,” he whispered.

Lucifer made himself stand up in spite of the pain. An palpable suffering seemed to radiate from everywhere at once. What Lucifer had been certain was a roar of flames now sounded like some ancient behemoth crying out in loss and agony. Abandoned, Lucifer thought, but he didn’t know why. He staggered over to the collection of sigils and the decidedly creepy bowl of his own blood and stared hopelessly. Michael had the instructions in his hand when he was banished, and Lucifer wasn’t sure he could even cast spells. He couldn’t just stay in Hell either.

***

Lucifer passed what might have been hours or days wandering around in circles. Logic told him that he needed to be moving up, but no matter how far he went in any direction, he never found any stairs or even a slight incline to indicate the right way out. After so long, he had expected to find someone else, at least one of the creatures with twisted faces that Castiel had once warned him about, but there was nothing. Lucifer kept moving, using smears of his own blood to mark the paths he had already tried.

Whatever was wailing down below had either gotten louder or Lucifer had made a wrong turn and begun to descend through Hell. A part of him didn’t care, some hysterical thought in the back of his mind that was urging him to investigate and consider freeing the creature being tortured in the furthest reaches of the abyss. The air took on a sudden change, thick and sharp in a way that made Lucifer’s lungs hurt and left an acrid sting in the back of his throat. The heat blazed with enough intensity that Lucifer was certain he shouldn’t have survived it, but then it abated all at once, temporarily driven back by a cool breeze. Lucifer turned towards it, letting the chill caress his face and neck.

“I’ve been waiting for you.” The whisper came from everywhere and nowhere at once, and Lucifer shivered for reasons that had nothing to do with the slight chill. “Come closer.”

Lucifer’s legs moved. He didn’t want them to, but they did. The being seemed to sing, seemed to crow as Lucifer got closer. It didn’t feel happy but a dangerous, buzzing sort of excited.

“Closer. Closer. I can help you.”

Lucifer stopped and stared. The figure emerging from the darkness was almost identical to his own. There was something brighter and sharper in the eyes, and the body moved with an inhuman, serpentine grace that beguiled his shape.

“Finally. I’ve been waiting.”

“Who are you?” Lucifer asked.

The double cocked his head, the little bird-like gesture that Lucifer had observed in Castiel so many times. “You can’t tell? How strange.” He moved forward, and all the light of the room moved with him. It shone brighter when he smiled. “I can help you.”

“You know the way out?”

“Yes, but that’s only a small portion of why you need me.”

Lucifer narrowed his eyes.

The other one laughed. “Don’t you want to save Castiel?”

“What do you know about Castiel?”

“Everything you know and more,” the double said as he began to walk a slow circle around Lucifer. “Enough to know I can save him. Enough to know you need me to.”

“And why would you do that?” Lucifer asked. “You’ll forgive my being rude, but everything I’ve seen crawl out of Hell so far has been a fucking monster.”

The temperature around them dropped, and the being that looked like Lucifer turned to regard him with a dark frown. “That’s not a nice word. I’m no more a monster than you are. …Are you a monster?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so.” 

“Good. And to answer your question, because I want you to be happy. It’s actually crucial to my goals here. That and I don’t want to die.”

“That makes sense. What do you want in exchange?”

“Freedom.”

Lucifer snorted. “That always goes well.”

The double swept closer again. “Do you not see me?” he asked. “Do you not understand?”

“…I know I know you.”

“We do not know. We are. I am you, a part of you, the part you’ve forgotten and lost. Or you’re a part of me, some might say. Puzzle pieces either way.”

“In Hell?” Lucifer whispered.

“Yes. Our separation has spared you this torment.” The double pushed the end of his shirt up and inched the waistband of his pants down just enough to reveal the glaring red brand on his hip. It looked vaguely like a seven with two little ink blots in the hollow. 

“What is that?”

“It’s a mark of an ancient curse. The first curse in fact. It was once used to seal the being that is now trying to destroy the world. …It will give you the power to stop her.”

“And then I—I become you?”

“You’re always me, and I’m always you. Nothing is lost. …But it will be painful in ways you cannot even imagine. It will be like having your very self torn apart, again.” The double came closer, coiling around Lucifer without touching him at all. “But we will save Castiel,” he whispered. “I know how you love him.”

“Do you?” Lucifer asked. “Love him?”

The double tilted his head and smiled.

“I’ve figured out that there’s some pretty bad blood there. …Do you think he’ll even see me—us after we’re…”

“Complete? No. I’m afraid that’s unlikely, but he will live.”

“Thought so. Well, nice while it lasted.” Lucifer wiped his eyes quickly. “What do I have to do?”

“Just remember.”

“Remember what?”

“Your name.”

Cool fingertips brushed over his cheeks, more refreshing than unsettling, and Lucifer blindly followed the glowing image of himself.

“Your name,” it called to him again. “Think of your name.”

Luce, he thought, because that’s what Castiel had called him. But there was that one word whispered in another language when they had kissed (brother) and then that caught syllable when Castiel was tired first thing in the morning, as if his true name couldn’t be spoken.

Lucifer watched his own eyes blink placidly in the darkness, crinkling with the hint of a smile before closing as the alter image faded away. It seeped into him like acid, the mark searing itself into his skin as body and grace rejoined. The force of cold light threatened to tear him apart from within, but he wasn’t afraid. The agony tearing through his core felt familiar. Every delirious nightmare lined up with a memory. He felt whole.

 

Lucifer moved through Hell with the calm efficiency of one who knew it intimately. He felt dizzy and lightheaded enough to wander in several circles before he found a path that led up. Someone was calling for him there.

“Luce, are you with me?” Castiel asked, shaking his shoulders lightly. “Luce—”

“You don’t have to do that anymore.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Say my name, Castiel.”

“…You know.”

“Yes.”

“…Lucifer—”

“There’s no need for further explanation.” Lucifer gave a dismissive hand wave but stumbled when he stepped forward. Castiel caught him, one arm around his waist in the familiar hold, and he froze, already missing his former self. “Thank you,” he whispered, watching Castiel’s expression. “Are you afraid of me?”

“No, but I am concerned for you.”

Lucifer gave a thin smile. Castiel was a kind person, but he was sure that was the end of it. Whoever Lucifer was now, the person Castiel had striven so hard to protect didn’t really exist anymore. This was all practicality now.

“Lucifer, are you all right?” Castiel’s voice sounded so soft, so sweet.

“I’m fine.” 

“You’re shaking, and you seem upset.”

“I’m a little overwhelmed here. I think that’s fair.”

“Of course.” Castiel squeezed Lucifer’s waist gently, like he always had.

“I suppose we need to get back up and see to dear old dad, huh?” Lucifer stretched his wings, briefly hesitating before draping his arm over Castiel’s shoulders. He didn’t recoil. “Hold tight. Don’t let me drop us in any oceans or anything.”

“How would I stop you?”

“Don’t over-think.” Lucifer closed his eyes, bracing, but flying was as easy and familiar as breathing.


	11. Chapter Eleven

Lucifer was still leaning on Castiel, stumbling sideways at an awkward landing as they came down the stairs.

“I’m sure I’ll get better at that.”

“It’s like riding a bike,” Castiel offered, keeping an arm around him. 

Lucifer looked and felt different now. His eyes were brighter, all the bruises faded from his skin, and he felt somehow more solid and distinctly cool. He sounded the same when he laughed, though. “Just waiting for all the sparkly bits to get the tingle back.

Castiel smiled. Things felt normal between them, at least until Lucifer tensed, back straightening, arm dropping from Castiel’s shoulders.

“Do you feel that?” Lucifer pushed Castiel behind him as he crept forward. 

The room was dim but not so dark that they couldn’t see. Chuck was still stretched across the couch, pale and drawn, oblivious to the way Michael was leaning over him, scowl twisting Adam’s young face.

“I knew you would come back here,” he whispered. “Strange to think that he can die, isn’t it?”

“He doesn’t have to,” Lucifer said. He squeezed Castiel’s arm before stepping away from him, closer to Michael. “It will be just like old times. Day Seven.”

“…You think we can go back to that?” Michael asked.

“I think we can go to something better than this. What are you even doing, Michael?”

“Did Castiel tell you? About our other option?”

“Other option?”

“It’s a non-option,” Castiel said. Michael glowered at him, and he sincerely wished Lucifer’s arm was still around him. “Michael has suggested that we may have more luck killing Amara than simply healing Chuck.”

“Chuck…” Lucifer echoed, frowning as he looked down at the withered figure on the couch. “I never thought I would see him like this.”

“I think it reveals a great deal about his true nature. No wonder all his plans failed,” Michael said coldly. “This is a matter of practicality, Lucifer. You’ve only just recovered your grace, and it is a key resource in this fight. We cannot both heal him and kill her.”

“If Lucifer heals him, we don’t need to kill her.”

“Do you know how many of our brothers and sisters lie murdered right now because of her?” Michael snapped. “She deserves punishment. Lucifer, you must see that.” He sighed then, drawing close to Lucifer with something that resembled warmth. “Think about it, little brother. With him gone, you and I are free from his design. We can stay on this planet together. Isn’t that what you always wanted?”

“I wanted us to be a family. I never wanted him dead.”

“But he wanted you dead. He would force me to do it, Lucifer. He made us play his sick, little game and then discarded us when the outcome wasn’t to his liking.”

Lucifer shook his head. “He apologized to me…”

“Don’t be foolish. He told you what you wanted to hear to get your help, and if you heal him now, you’re letting him do it again. You’re letting him use you.”

Lucifer shook his head again, and Castiel felt a rush of relief. Lucifer had almost died to save Chuck. He wouldn’t betray him now. But then Michael’s hand was brushing the inside of Lucifer’s wrist. 

“I worry for you,” he said, stroking Lucifer’s palm. “The amount of energy it would require for you to heal him is likely to completely debilitate you, at least temporarily, and it work work immediately. You’ll both be vulnerable in the meantime.”

Castiel stepped closer, standing on Lucifer’s other side and resting a hand on his other arm. “Is that true?” he asked. “Is this dangerous for you?”

“No more dangerous than letting Amara eat us all,” Lucifer muttered. “It’s unpleasant, a guaranteed over-extension, but I’m willing to do it.”

“Do you think he would feel the same? Do you know how minimal an effort it would have been to release us both from the Cage? You remember now, don’t you, Lucifer?”

“I do, but that doesn’t changes anything. I won’t die, won’t see my family die because of a grudge.”

“That’s hardly accurate.” Michael leaned closer to Lucifer’s side. “Listen to me, nobody has to die. You’re the Morning Star, the Bringer of Light. You can kill her. You can free yourself from him and avenge his death all at once. You’ll be a hero, Lucifer.”

“I tried to kill her. It didn’t work, so unless you have an idea that’s better than a Hand of God, this entire debate is hypothetical.”

Michael’s face fell. “It must be the Cage.”

“What?”

“Your grace couldn’t properly receive the power of the Hand of God because of the Mark of Cain and the corruption of Hell.”

Lucifer glowered at him, moving his hand out of Michael’s grip.

“I mean you no offense, Lucifer. I’m as tainted as you are now thanks to your little stunt at the cemetery, at least for the moment. What we need is an angel whose grace is more in-tune with the residual energy of the Hands— a conduit for your strength.” Michael smiled when he looked at Castiel.

“No,” Lucifer said. “Absolutely not.”

“And why not? The damage he took from Sam Winchester is minimal in comparison to what you or I carry and shouldn’t be enough of a problem to interfere with the power of the weapon. Besides, his grace is already… aligned with your own, Lucifer. Sharing a vessel has put the two of you into a rather unique position.”

“I said no.”

Castiel glanced between them. “Do I not get a say in this?” he asked. 

“It’s not safe.”

“It’s not unsafe,” Michael countered.

“Then I want to do it.”

Lucifer’s grip on Castiel’s hand was so brief he wasn’t sure it was real. “She could kill you.”

“She’ll kill all of us if we don’t do something,” Castiel said.

“So we have an agreement then?” Michael asked, smiling again. “Excellent, because, as luck would have it, I know where we can find another Hand of God. A single branch was preserved from Jonah’s tree in Nineveh. It was locked in a crypt of relics some years ago, according to my information, but I should be able to recover it fairly easily.”

“You’ve had this plan for a while,” Lucifer murmured.

“I was exploring my options. Forgive me for wanting to live,” Michael said. He was gone in the next instant.

“Only if you’ll forgive me the same.” Lucifer sighed and sank to his knees beside the couch. 

Castiel sat down beside him. “I can’t imagine how difficult this is for you.”

“I tried to save him.”

“And have you given up?”

“…No.”

“I didn’t think so.” 

“I could do it now, before Michael gets back.”

Castiel pulled the blanket up over Chuck and rested his hand over Lucifer’s. “If you tried now, you’d only exhaust yourself. You’ve been through a terrible ordeal, Lucifer, and we can’t lose you now.”

“Right.” Lucifer stood abruptly. “I should go. I don’t want to make things awkward for you here with the Winchesters.” He forced a smile, turned to leave. Lucifer was half up the stairs when Castiel found his voice.

“I don’t want you to go.”

“…Pardon?”

“I think you should stay here. I mean, it’s safe. There’s plenty of room. …Your clothes are already here.”

Lucifer arched an eyebrow at him. “…My clothes are already here?”

“…Yes. You might need them.”

“I suppose I might,” Lucifer murmured. “No Winchesters are going to come after me while I’m healing, are they?”

“Of course not. …I’ll talk to them. Please go rest.” 

“You’re a good kid,” Lucifer said, and he leaned forward, leaned down in such a way that Castiel was briefly certain. He started to tilt his face up, but Lucifer had already moved past him.

***

Castiel found Lucifer a couple of hours later, stretched across the bed they had shared with his hands folded behind his head. His eyes were closed, but he had quite obviously left a vacant spot beside him. Castiel set a tray down on the nightstand and touched Lucifer’s shoulder. He jumped, much to Castiel’s surprise.

“It’s just me. I brought you some fruit and a cup of tea with the honey you like.”

“I’m an archangel again,” Lucifer said, smiling. “Don’t have to eat.”

“…Of course.”

Lucifer sat up, taking the warm mug and sliding an orange segment past his lips. “Thank you,” he said. “I didn’t mean to be rude.”

Castiel sat down on the edge of the bed. “Does it taste all right?”

“Why? What’d you put in it?”

“I didn’t… Oh. A joke.” Castiel glanced at the fruit. “I’ve had trouble with food ever since reclaiming my grace. I thought you might suffer the same.”

“I told you,” Lucifer said, “it’s because you eat crap. Hanging out with the Winchesters isn’t doing you any favors in that regard, little brother. Here.” He held out a piece of orange.

Castiel took it, wrinkling his nose doubtfully before trying it.

“Good, huh?”

“It is. Thank you.” Castiel was quiet for a long time, taking fruit when Lucifer offered it but never reaching into the bowl on his own. He only spoke when Lucifer’s cup was empty and set aside. “I am glad you’re feeling better, and I apologize if I mishandled the situation. I…”

“I don’t regret anything, Castiel, if that’s what you’re asking me.”

“I suppose it was.”

Lucifer kept his eyes down, winding a loose thread from the duvet around his finger over and over. “…Do you?”

“Of course not. I knew who you were all along, Lucifer.”

That seemed to take him by surprise. Lucifer hesitated in his string twisting to look up. There was something sad in his expression, his brows knotted together and his eyes shining like they were wet. His throat caught when he swallowed, and Castiel could see the clench in the muscles of his neck.

“…I’ve upset you. I’m sorry.”

“You apologize too much, little brother.”

Castiel laughed softly. “You keep calling me that.”

“Does it bother you?”

“No. I like it. I just… I suppose I thought you might be disgusted.”

“Disgusted? No, Castiel, I’m far from disgusted.” Lucifer’s fingers lay over the back of Castiel’s hand. “Those are their rules, and we are not them.”

“I’m sorry if I took advantage of you,” Castiel whispered.

“You didn’t.” Lucifer turned to face him, taking one of Castiel’s hands in each of his. “Castiel, nothing has changed for me, not so far as it concerns you. I already had an inkling, and even knowing everything I do now, I wouldn’t change what happened between us. I understand if—”

Castiel didn’t let him finish. He held Lucifer’s face in his hands and kissed him like he was afraid he would slip away. He had expected Lucifer to hate him once he regained his memories. It was unfathomable that he might still care about him, might still want him enough to hold him close and kiss his lips. It was harder than before. Lucifer was different now, and Castiel could feel his grace humming beneath his skin. It was cool. Castiel shivered.

“Now I’m the one worried that you’re disgusted,” Lucifer murmured.

“Not at all. It’s different, but I rather like it.” Castiel pulled Lucifer’s shirt off. There were no bruises now and only the faintest lines from old injuries, but Lucifer tensed, almost flinched when touched. “Is it Hell?” Castiel asked.

“Sometimes. …Does that bother you?”

“I’ve been your vessel, Lucifer. I’ve felt your pain or at least some fraction of it. I don’t want you to feel that way anymore.”

“It was helping.”

Castiel cradled the back of Lucifer’s neck with one hand to guide him closer. He eased himself down, letting Lucifer’s body cover his as he sank into the bedding. It wasn’t as different as Castiel might have thought. Lucifer’s touch was more insistent but never lacking in tenderness. He chuckled when Castiel whispered Enochian against his skin and answered him in turn between lightly biting kisses. The word Castiel wanted died in his throat or fell heavy on his throat several times. Lucifer hadn’t said it yet either, but he said other things. He said beautiful and warm and perfect. He said Castiel and little brother, and then he said mine. I can’t believe you’re mine.

Castiel wrapped his legs around Lucifer’s hips and held him as they moved together. He kissed him as often as the opportunity presented itself, which was less than Castiel had hoped, but Lucifer busied his lips and tongue with Castiel’s neck in the meantime. Castiel called him brother in Enochian as he clung to him. He clung to Lucifer, hands sliding up his back and digging in across his shoulders where Castiel knew his wings were tucked away. He dragged his nails there, a distinctly angelic caress, and Lucifer arched against him, shuddering and breathless. The shame dropped away, cast off like soiled clothing as the couple lay together in twisted sheets.

It was only after it was over, after the haze and cleared and they lie side by side on the bed that Castiel noticed the mark on Lucifer’s hip. He had felt it under his hands once, but he hadn’t recognized it, and Lucifer had twitched away from the touch. Lucifer was dozing now, or at least he seemed to be with his eyes closed and his breathing even and slow. Castiel took the edge of the sheet in hand, lifting it up and pulling it back enough to confirm his suspicions. The Mark of Cain blazed on Lucifer’s hip.

“…What are you doing?” 

Castiel dropped the sheet. “I’m sorry. I saw… I didn’t know.”

“Didn’t you?”

“I thought… I… It wasn’t there before is all.

“It’s burned into my grace,” Lucifer explained. “I’d hoped you wouldn’t notice.”

“Is that why it’s… there?”

“He said he would leave it somewhere nobody but he would ever see it.”

“Why would God be looking at your hips?”

Lucifer chuckled to himself, but he didn’t sound happy or amused. 

“I’m sorry,” Castiel said again, tracing the mark with the tips of his fingers. “Does it hurt?”

“Sometimes. I wish that were the worst of it.” Lucifer closed his eyes.

Castiel bent to kiss him before lying down against Lucifer’s side. He stroked the mark idly until the muscles beneath stopped jumping under his touch. Lucifer was asleep by then. Castiel kissed the worry lines from his forehead and whispered to him that he was safe like he’d done before. He waited a while longer to tell Lucifer that he loved him.


	12. Chapter Twelve

Lucifer made morning coffee out of habit more than anything else. He liked the warm, earthy smell and even the sharp bitterness on his tongue, but mostly, it was familiarity. He warmed his hands on the mug as he watched Chuck sleeping. Lucifer could feel him slipping. He didn’t have to look out, didn’t have to see the blackness encroaching over the sun to know that God was slipping away.

“You look sad,” Michael said. He stood in the doorway, watching Lucifer with an expression of sincere confusion.

“I am sad,” Lucifer replied. “Are you not?”

“He abandoned us.”

“You were fine when it was just me.”

“That was different,” Michael snapped. “You broke the rules. I never—” He held his hands up and shook his head. “This is not the time for that. We will have time for our discussion once the Darkness is dealt with.”

“He could deal with her.”

“He’s already failed. His unwillingness to do what he must led us to this.”

Lucifer swirled his coffee idly. “Is that how you feel about me too?”

“That was her fault too, wasn’t it?” Michael stood behind Lucifer, hands resting on his shoulders. “Do you think I don’t remember? You changed. You used to take such care of the little ones.”

“I did try to protect them. They want to kill me. I don’t know what you would have me do.”

Michael was quiet for several moments, dusting lint from Lucifer’s shoulders and fixing the errant flips of hair at the nape of his neck. “She’s killing them, Lucifer. She’s already killed so many. She absorbs them beyond what even I could pull back. If you want to be upset with someone, be upset with him, but don’t take it out on your little brothers and sisters. …After all, you have quite clearly more than forgiven Castiel.”

Lucifer clenched his jaw, turned to glance over his shoulder.

“It’s no mystery, Lucifer. Don’t be coy.” Michael waved his hand dismissively. “Are you going to help your family or not?”

Lucifer didn’t answer immediately. He traced his finger around the rim of his cup, stared at his coffee and then at Chuck. “…You have the weapon?”

“I do.”

“If I help with this, you will tell the others that it wasn’t my fault. You will tell them I helped, and you will… You’ll help me smooth things over, Michael, for me and Castiel. The fighting stops.”

Michael chuckled to himself. “You make an awful lot of demands considering you and Castiel are in danger as surely as anyone else is, but fine. His plans are invalid now anyway.”

“If I can save him after, I will.”

“That would tip the balance, little brother. Their time is over. Besides, he’d never stand for how you want to live. He said you belonged to only him once. Castiel would be…”

“Enough, Michael. You’ve gotten your way. I don’t have to be happy about it. Why don’t you work on finding Amara?”

“Yes. You did invent sulking, I believe.” Michael sniffed. “And I’ve already found her. Her arrogance will be her downfall.”

“She didn’t want to be locked up. I can understand that, can’t you?”

“Defending them is beneath you. Go rouse your little lover and let us be done with this.”

Michael was gone at once, but Lucifer could sense him and knew where to follow. Still, he waited. Amara’s attack was still fresh in his mind, the pain and the confusion, but somehow Lucifer was alive and intact. The body wrapped around his grace felt like a perfect fit, and while it may have been his own foolishness, Lucifer wanted to believe that Chuck had intervened. Maybe his father had done something for him after all. Lucifer tucked the blankets in around Chuck’s sleeping form, wiped the sweaty hair back from his forehead, and bent to kiss his face. “I believe this is what you would want me to do,” he said. “You want to be a good father. This is for your children. …I am sorry for my part in things.” Lucifer’s voice broke, and he stood abruptly when he heard someone entering the room.

“…Are you okay?” Castiel asked.

“I’m sad.”

Castiel stepped closer, wrapping his arms around Lucifer’s waist and hugging him from behind. 

“I told Sam he had to be willing to see people he loved die, but… She’s killing angels, Castiel.”

“I saw. Understanding the necessity of death does not mean you don’t grieve. I’d be more concerned if you weren’t upset, but you are doing the right thing.”

Lucifer turned, gathered Castiel close, and kissed his lips. There was certainty in that. “…Michael’s ready for us,” he said.

Castiel cleared his throat, cheeks flushed. “I expected. I’m ready.”

“Then we should go,” Lucifer said. “…Goodbye, Father.”

***

The garden had once been a site of beauty, but now the countless herbs and flowers had withered and bent. Vines that had colored various sculptures vibrant green had browned and grown soft. Fruits and blossoms had over-ripened and exploded pungent fumes into the air. The world rotted around Amara. She stood in front of a large fountain watching the pump struggle with congealed, gray water, exactly where Michael said. Lucifer walked in alongside him, shoulder to shoulder, just like old times. She turned and regarded them with a puzzled look.

“I knew you two would come. You should have run, especially you, Lucifer.”

Lucifer shrugged. “I’ve had worse.”

“I’m sure. It was a point you once made to me not too long ago, and now here you stand, defending him.”

“We’re not here to defend him,” Michael said. 

Amara scoffed at him. “You of all people, nephew.”

“Do not call me that. You would call the angels you slaughtered family?”

“As if you’ve never killed your own kind.”

Michael started to lunge, but Lucifer grabbed his arm and pulled him back.

“You can’t save him,” Amara said coolly. “You would have done it already.”

“I told you, we’re not here for him.” 

Michael looked up, and Lucifer followed, feeling the sudden force of his remaining siblings’ grace. Again, the power of Heaven coalesced, and it struck Amara hard enough to send her reeling, both archangels knocked in the opposite direction. Dust hung in the air, and the fountain’s sludge crept across the ground. Michael pulled Lucifer to his feet. 

Amara laughed. “Was that it? That was your big plan?” She kicked a chunk of debris out of her path as she advanced. “That didn’t work the first time, and it won’t work now. You have nothing, boys. I could at least give you peace. Do you think I don’t know how the Cage torments you, Lucifer. Pain is your father’s legacy, but I could—” Amara sputtered. She gurgled and hunched forward, hand flying to her face to catch the blood dribbling from her already pale lips. She stared at the red on her hand for a moment before her eyes traveled down. The jagged end of a knotted branch jutted out of her chest. Amara sucked in a ragged breath, face twisting in a snarl, but she laughed again. “You honestly thought—”

Lucifer moved quickly, wings taking him to Castiel’s side at once. They only had one chance to do this. He stood at Castiel’s back, pressing one kiss to the back of his neck as he reached around and wrapped his hands over Castiel’s and clutched the bloody branch. Lucifer pushed, channeling his grace through the latent connection always shared by an archangel and his last vessel. There was no Chuck to call to him to stop now. Chuck was lying hidden, dying or already dead, and it was all because of her. More grace into the weapon. Lucifer thought of Chuck’s hand on his, the tearful smile he’d given across the table, the long-awaited chance at reconciliation now stolen away by her. Light ripped holes in her skin, and she screamed. Like his little brothers and sisters might have screamed as they were cut down, Lucifer thought, like Castiel might have screamed, and he wrenched the branch, twisting it inside her. Amara’s eyes began to glow, and white shone out of her nose and mouth as she began to shake. Lucifer struck with the force of all his hatred, every wrong he had ever felt now turned against her. He was one minute away from perceived vindication when he felt Castiel slump against him.

Castiel’s hands were still tight on the weapon, but his head had lolled back to Lucifer’s shoulder, and Lucifer’s arms around him were all but holding him up. His eyes were heavy but focused. Blood trickled from his nose. Lucifer’s grace was tearing through him, and he smiled up when Lucifer noticed, content and willing to play his part. 

Lucifer felt tears sting his eyes. Amara shrieked again, but it did nothing to fuel his rage. He felt nothing from the mark except the memory of Castiel’s soft fingers as he fell asleep. In that moment, Lucifer knew the right thing to do. He knew what Castiel would want him to do, and he knew that they were the same thing. He knew the love and the kindness, the tenderness and compassion, the selflessness and the purpose radiating from Castiel’s grace, and he couldn’t destroy it. 

Lucifer put all of his and Castiel’s combined weight into the attack, wings opening to gain enough momentum to drive the branch through Amara and into the ground. He cast the branch from his hands, aiming for where he thought Michael was standing, but severing the connection resulted in an aftershock of power that knocked them back. Lucifer kept am arm around Castiel as they rolled to safety. “Kill her,” he called to Michael. He was already advancing. Lucifer watched long enough to see Michael’s hands on the weapon, but Amara wasn’t moving anymore. Her essence seeped out of her nostrils and the corners of her mouth as little black wisps. The sickly sweet smell of burning flesh hung on the air, made sharp by the sudden, biting cold. Lucifer looked at Castiel. His own skin was mottled with glowing white cracks, but they were starting to fade away. Blood streaked past his face and down the front of his shirt, but his lips were parted and drawing breath. Lucifer could feel Castiel slipping through his fingers. He picked his little brother up and flew away.

***

Lucifer didn’t trust the Winchesters. He took Castiel to the basement of an abandoned theatre in in Windsor and waited for him to wake. He looked weak to the point of humanity lying on the pallet of blankets Lucifer had constructed into a bed, a sharp inversion to the early part of their relationship, but this wasn’t something Lucifer could heal. He felt human again, powerless and sick with worry, pacing back and forth across the room for hours until Castiel began to open his eyes.

“Is she dead?”

Lucifer knelt beside him and took his hand. “I believe so.”

“…You believe?”

“I left Michael to finish her. I had to save you.”

Castiel tried to sit up, but he ended up uselessly scrabbling until Lucifer caught him and eased him back down. 

“Still, little brother.”

“Why didn’t you kill her?”

“Michael is more than capable—”

“What aren’t you telling me?” Castiel demanded.

Lucifer stared at him levelly for several moments then sighed, shaking his head in frustration. “I’m a terrible person. There.”

“What?”

“You were breaking apart, Castiel. If I had channeled any more power through you, it likely would have obliterated you and in such a way that I may not have been able to pull you back or make you whole.”

Castiel did sit up then, scooting back from Lucifer and giving him a look of cold indignation. “You let her go because of me?”

“I did not let her go. She was pinned to the ground, bleeding and dying. A human could have taken her out at that point. Michael has obliterated her by now.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Michael is nothing if not a capable and efficient soldier.” Lucifer reached for Castiel’s hands but didn’t force contact. “Please don’t fault me this,” he said softly. “You are… all I have now, and you have protected me for so long. How could I do nothing to protect you when I get my first chance?”

Castiel held out for another moment before taking Lucifer’s hands in his. He rubbed Lucifer’s wrists with his thumbs like he had always done when he woke up from a nightmare. 

Lucifer stared at Castiel’s hands. “You’re still taking care of me,” he whispered.

“I disagree with your decision,” Castiel said, “but I am… flattered that you made it.”

Lucifer breathed a half-formed laugh as he slid his knees onto the pad of blankets. He leaned forward, eyes closing when Castiel’s hand swept through his hair, cradling his neck and guiding him close. Lucifer rested against Castiel, breathing in the familiar scent and relishing in the vibration of warm, living grace. 

“There’s something else, isn’t there?” Castiel asked.

“I don’t know,” Lucifer whispered. “What do you think happens if I heal him now?” 

“I don’t know, brother. I would like to think that having the universe unbalanced in favor of the light wouldn’t be wholly bad, but perhaps that design is beyond my understanding. …Do you think you can?”

“I do, yes.”

“Then I think you should try.” Castiel rested his chin against Lucifer’s hair, still cradling his neck with one hand, stroking his wrist with the other. “I don’t think you would ever forgive yourself if you didn’t try.”

“You’re right.” Lucifer lifted his head from Castiel’s shoulder. “Will you be coming?”

“Of course. We’ll finish this together.”

***

Chuck hadn’t moved from his position on the couch. Amara’s death didn’t seem to have had any immediate affect on him. If anything, his condition had deteriorated. His breathing was slow. He would struggle and fill his lungs with a faint whistling sound, rhythm occasionally broken by frantic gasping as the body’s lungs began to fail. Lucifer knelt by the couch, Castiel at his side.

“You’re weakened from the fight,” Castiel said gently. “You may not have the strength to do this right now. We should wait until—”

“He doesn’t have much time, Castiel, and I can’t just let him die. I’ll be fine.”

Lucifer laid one hand over Chuck’s forehead and rested the other on his chest. The human body was small and underwhelming, but within, Lucifer could sense his father’s energy—a shuddering vortex of light and now stifled and drenched in inky blackness. Lucifer chased it with his own grace and brushed the remnants away like ash. He reached for God like he had long ago, tiny twitches of physical bodies the only evidence of the spiritual communion occurring within. Lucifer poured his energy out like a sacrifice. He could feel his grace filling in the gaps of injury like a balm, and it made him feel clean. He forgave, and he was forgiven. The rage and the hate festering from Hell were soothed by the mere act of touching God. Lucifer felt strangely hollowed out and surprisingly free.

The room spun, and Lucifer’s back hit Castiel’s chest. The air was sucked out of his chest, and he floundered briefly until he heard his little brother’s voice trying to soothe him. The words seemed to run together in his head. Exhausted, he understood. Rest, too, but he couldn’t rest. Not yet. Castiel’s arms were shaking around him, but Chuck hadn’t opened his eyes.

“Let me get you somewhere to rest,” Castiel said. “Please.”

Lucifer shook his head and forced his eyes open. “No. I need to see him.”

“Lucifer, you almost killed yourself. You’re bleeding. Please.”

“I’ll be still. Just don’t take him away from me yet.”

Castiel’s arms wrapped around Lucifer again. He wiped the blood off his face but didn’t say anything. Lucifer just watched Chuck. His breathing had grown quieter, the ragged drag of painful gasping now replaced with slow, deep breaths that became easier with each passing one. Hints of pink began to tinge the gray bloodlessness of his face. Chuck’s closed eyes darted as if chasing a dream, and his limbs twitched like they were regaining sensation. Lucifer saw new changes every time he blinked, eyes rolling closed for what could only have been a few paltry seconds. He lost his concept of time, but he could tell that Chuck seemed to be moving from dying to simply sleeping.

“I can’t believe it,” Castiel whispered.

Lucifer’s head lolled back, and he grinned. “You doubted me?”

“Not you specifically, but… This is remarkable.”

“Remarkable,” Lucifer echoed. His words ran together hopelessly, and his fingers slipped out of Chuck’s palm as his limbs grew weak. There was one moment then where Lucifer was certain Chuck’s fingers had curled around his own, squeezing his hand affectionately. He smiled and slumped against Castiel. 

They had won. Remarkable.


	13. Epilogue

Castiel gathered up pillows and blankets from the bunker’s linen closets, made Lucifer a place to sleep, and then waited, watching over him dutifully. He fell into his old habit of talking while Lucifer slept, but this time, it was mostly to tell him how amazing he was for bringing Amara down and healing Chuck. Castiel was smiling fondly, watching how Lucifer’s expression relaxed from the softest touches through his hair, when he heard Dean roughly clear his throat from behind him.

“Hello, Dean.”

“Cas.” More than brevity made Dean’s greeting sound curt. “You planning on telling anybody what happened, or…?”

Castiel smiled. He didn’t stop touching Lucifer, not now. “You’ve seen the sky,” he said softly. “We won.”

“…What’s going on here, Cas?”

Castiel shook his head. “Everything is good, Dean. Chuck should wake shortly. He will know what to do.”

Dean lifted his eyebrows and stepped forward. “I’m sorry? I thought the plan was to toast Amara. I thought that if one of them went, they both had to go.”

“You thought wrong.” 

Dean stayed quiet, drumming his fingers on the door frame until Castiel frowned and looked up at him curiously.

“What’s wrong?”

“This isn’t a permanent arrangement, Cas.”

“I know that.”

“Good. Just keep it in mind. I’m not bunking with the freaking Devil, and you shouldn’t be either.”

Dean was gone before Castiel had a chance to reply. At one point, the words would have bothered him, but they didn’t this time. Lucifer scrunched his face up in his sleep, and Castiel shushed him. He waited, but Dean didn’t come back. It grew quiet, so Castiel started talking to Lucifer again. “I don’t think you’re the Devil,” he whispered, and he thought he heard the next breath from Lucifer’s lungs come out as a contented sigh.

***

Chuck woke late in the evening. Castiel was telling Lucifer about the hospital garden and its colony of bees when he noticed the stirring. Chuck blinked several times, brows drawing together with the confusion of one who didn’t expect to wake at all. 

“Castiel?” Chuck’s arms shook as he pushed himself upright. “What happened? Is she… dead?”

“I believe so, yes.”

“And I’m still here.”

“Lucifer insisted upon healing you.”

Chuck squeezed his eyes shut, sniffling before any tears could fall. “I don’t think there’s anything I can do for him right now.”

“He didn’t want you to. He just wanted to see you.” Castiel squeezed Lucifer’s shoulders. “Wake up, brother,” he called softly, never noticing the hint of scrutiny with which he was watched. 

Lucifer came around slowly, grumbling with discontent as he was forced awake. Castiel had to keep an arm around him for balance, but Lucifer didn’t seem bothered by his condition. He smiled when he saw that Chuck was awake. Lucifer reached out for Chuck’s hand, his own grip weak and trembling now, and then he began to cry. 

Lucifer didn’t stay awake long after that. He clasped Chuck’s fingers for a while, staring at him with ancient adoration as he drifted in and out of sleep. Chuck reached and touched his face once, but he was still weak as well. Later, he promised. They would have time to discuss everything later. Having seen that his endeavor was successful, Lucifer no longer protested when Castiel coaxed him from the floor and led him to bed. He hit the bed hard the second Castiel let go of him and hardly seemed to mind. 

For his part, Castiel was glad that Chuck hadn’t asked too many questions. He didn’t have a real answer about Amara’s fate, though he was certain, having seen the ferocity with which Michael first attacked, that she was dead. Castiel’s memory of that moment was hazy, blotted out by pain and fatigue, but he had felt Lucifer’s grace, and he had felt it overwhelm her. Amara was dead, and Chuck was not. The universe seemed no worse for any potential unbalance. The sun had set like normal, and it would rise again having shed another fragment of its black covering. The air felt alive again.

Castiel removed his coat, belt, and shoes before lying down next to Lucifer. Angels weren’t supposed to need sleep, but Castiel could feel himself relaxing in that familiar way. Lucifer fumbled sleepily to get his arm around Castiel’s waist. Castiel let himself be pulled across the bed, turning his face up so that he could kiss Lucifer’s lips as he was held close and smiling at his brother’s little shiver of surprise. Castiel closed his eyes then, finding himself content in spite of everything that had happened, or perhaps because of it. He’d been led to strange places, two sleeping angels with limbs and grace twining together.

And it felt like home.


End file.
